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The mildest herald by our fate allotted 

Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand 
To lead us wrrn a gentle hand 

Into the land of the dear departed, 
Into the Silent Land ! " 



VOICES 



FROM 



THE SILENT LAND; 

OR, 

LEAVES OF CONSOLATION FOR 
THE AFFLICTED. 



BY 



MRS. H. DWIGHT WILLIAMS 



O, soothe us, haunt us, uight and day, 
Ye gentle spirits far away, 
With whom we shared the cup of grace, 
Then parted — ye to Christ's embrace, 
We to the lonesome world again ; 
Yet mindful of th' unearthly strain 
Practised with you at Eden's door, 
To be sung on, where angels soar, 
With blended voices evermore. 

Keble. 




BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED BY JOHN P. JEWETT AND COMPANY. 

CLEVELAND, OHIO: 

JEWETT, PROCTOR, AND WORTHINGTON. 

LONDON : LOW AND COMPANY. 

18 5 3. 










Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by 

JOHN P. JEWETT AND COMPANY, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



The Library 
of Congress 



WASHINGTON 



i 



STEREOTYPED AT THE 
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY 



METCALF AND COMPANY, 
PRINTERS TO THE UNIVERSITY. 



DEDICATED 



<£I)e iHemorg of ©nc 



WHO HAS DEPARTED TO 



THE SILENT LAND; 



A MUCH-LOVED AND DEEPLY-LAMENTED BROTHER, WHOSE 

EARLY AND IRREPARABLE LOSS HAS CAUSED 

THE GATHERING OF THESE 



LEAVES OF CONSOLATION 



u Why, he but sleeps : 
If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed. 

With fairest flowers, 
111 sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack 
The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, nor 
The azured harebell, like thy veins ; no, nor 
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, 
Outsweetened not thy breath ; the redbreast would, 
With charitable bill, bring thee all this ; 
Yea, and furred moss besides, when flowers are none 
To winterground thy corse." 



PREFACE. 



" Into the Silent Land ! M Ah, who can say that the 
footsteps of none he once loved on earth have entered 
the " shadows of that pale realm n ? Death, sooner or 
later, cometh to all : the white and venerable locks of 
the aged, the maturity of manhood, the ruddy freshness 
of youth, whose flashing eye is salient with life and 
health, and the tender bud of infancy, — all soon, too 
soon, fall before the scythe of the pitiless destroyer. 

"The air is full of farewells for the dying, 
And mournings for the dead." 

No suffering, no anguish, is like unto that of the 
deeply heart-stricken mourner, as he bendeth over his 
forever-hushed, but beloved, dead. Often, at such 
times, the heart and soul, though wonderfully stirred, 
feels a grief " too deep for tears." A link of the 
chain that bound him to earth has been rudely riven ; 
and the vanity of this life, the nearness of eternity, 
with its all-absorbing interests, are felt and acknowl- 
edged. Such sad visitations of Providence induce 
j # 5 



G PREFACE. 

within us an insatiable desire to know more of the 
future ; and the flight thitherward of the spirit of one 
who in life has been very dear, perhaps the dearest, 
seems to cast a soft halo of light into that future. 
Then the Christian finds the blessed promises of God, 
and the death and resurrection of Christ, unspeakably 
precious ; he feels the need of the heavenly Comforter, 
and, while seeking to cast all his care on him, " know- 
ing that he careth for him," what may have seemed the 
dark and distant future is illumed with an almost 
unclouded noonday brightness. Every earthly woe, 
every trial and care, can be mitigated by the con- 
soling and sustaining influences of our holy religion. 
God has promised to " comfort all who mourn," if, in 
the time of their sorrow, they seek him. 

Prayer, and reading the word of God, will not only 
afford sweet consolation in the deepest affliction, but 
prove a tower of defence, a shield against the tempta- 
tions that frequently assail us at such times. Another 
source of comfort is to be found in the perusal of the 
writings of good and holy men who have felt the same 
bitter heart grief, and whose works abound with pas- 
sages most touchingly fitted to console under the heavi- 
est afflictions ; teaching us how to meet, bear, and wisely 
use all such chastenings for our spiritual advancement. 
Our literature, too, contains much prose and poetry 
addressed to the heart stricken, desponding, and des- 



PREFACE. 7 

olate, who, in times of bereavement, love to linger 
among the "graves of their household/ 7 and dwell 
upon the state of the departed. 

These " Voices from the Silent Land " have been col- 
lected in the freshness of a very deep affliction, and 
completed before its daily-gushing anguish had passed 
away. The compiler's aim and object is to induce 
some to make a good and wise use of afflictive dis- 
pensations, to see the hand of God in them all, and to 
feel that " the Judge of all the earth will do right." 
She can only desire that the perusal of these pages 
may prove as sweet and soothing a source of consola- 
tion to others as their preparation has been to herself. 
The women of the United States, however elevated 
and affluent their station, are rarely entirely free from 
the perplexities and anxieties of domestic cares, and 
can seldom find sufficient leisure to peruse or examine 
all the works from which this volume has been gath- 
ered ; therefore it is designed more particularly for 
my countrywomen whom God, in infinite wisdom, may 
have caused to pass under the rod of affliction, but 
who, I trust, can say, with the poet, — 

" 'Tis sweet, as year by year we lose 
Friends out of sight, in faith to muse 
How grows in paradise our store." 

M. N. W. 

May 10, 1851. 



NOTE. 

The compiler would express her grateful acknowledgments to 
Mrs. Julia Norton, Messrs. W. C. Bryant, H. W. Longfellow, 
N. P. Willis, Park Benjamin, Charles Sprague, J. T. Fields, and 
others, for kindly granting her permission to publish the articles, 
which appear in this volume, from their pens. 



CONTENTS. 



The Hour of Death, Hemans, . 

What is Death ? Croley, 

Death a Sleep, Harris, 

Death and Sleep, Krummacher, 

He giveth his Beloved Sleep, Spencer, . 

The Death Bed, Hood, . . 

Music at a Death Bed, Hemans, . 

Praise in Times of Affliction, Melvill, 

Rejoicing in Heaven, Howitt, 

The Farewell to the Dead, . Hemans, . 

Against repining at Death, Drummond, 

Mourn not the Dead, Cook, . . 

Better to lose temporal than spiritual Mercies, . . Brooks, 
On the Death of Joseph Rodman Drake, .... Halleck, . 

Death not formidable to the Christian, Saurin, 

Death no longer the King of Terrors, Moore, . . 

He has gone to his God, Mrs. J. Norton, 42 

The Grave, Montgomery, . 43 

The Grave, Jones, .... 45 

The Language of a Gravestone, C. Elizabeth, . 48 

Hymn of the Churchyard, Bethune, ... 49 

Choice of Burial-place, Melvill, ... 51 

God's-acre, Longfellow, . . 52 

They are all gone, Vaughan, ... 53 

In Affliction look to Jesus, Winslow, ... 54 

Broken Ties, Home Journal, . 56 

Consolation, . . . E. B. Browning, 58 



PAGE 

. 13 
. 14 
. 16 



Death, Barton, . 

The Dead are every where, A?w?iymous, 

Blessed are the Dead, Dach, . . 

Duty of comforting the Afflicted, Jeremy Taylor, 17 

18 
20 
22 
22 
24 
26 
27 
28 
31 
32 
34 
35 
37 
39 
40 
41 



10 CONTENTS. 



Consolatory Epistle, St. Basil, ... 59 

The much-loved Dead, Mary E. Lee, . 60 

Days of Tribulation, Krummacher, . 64 

The Spirit's Land, Author of Selwin, 65 

A Death Bed, Aldrich, ... 67 

Departed Friends, Henry, ... 67 

The Departed, Benjamin, . . 68 

Meekness under the Chastening Rod, Leighton, ... 70 

On the Death of Edward Payson, D. D., . . . . Willis, .... 71 

The Tomb not fearful to the Christian, Hervey, ... 73 

Footsteps of Angels, Longfellow, . . 74 

To a Bereaved Sister, S. W. Williams, 76 

To my Brother in Heaven, H. W. Rockwell, 77 

Bereavement, , . E. B. Browning, 79 

The early Dead, Clark, .... 80 

Improvement of Affliction, Hall, .... 81 

My Mother's Grave, Aldrich, ... 82 

Friend after Friend departs, Montgomery, . 84 

Benefit of Affliction, Baxter, ... 85 

Consolation sought and found, Bowring, ... 86 

I see thee still, Sprague, ... 88 

Words to a mourning Husband, Hall, .... 89 

She sleeps that still and placid Sleep, Hervey, ... 91 

Knowledge of Christian Friends in a Future "World, Mason, ... 93 

The Future Life, Bryant, ... 94 

I knew that we must part, Sprague, ... 95 

Sanctified Afflictions, Flavel, .... 98 

On the Death of a Sister, Anonymous, . . 99 

" Sorrow not, even as others which have no hope," . C. Wesley, . . 101 

Fear of Death, Jeremy Taylor, . 102 

On the Death of a Friend, Heber, .... 104 

In Affliction dwell upon the Brevity of Life, . . . Brooks, . . . 105 

Dirge in Autumn, Clark, .... 106 

Thoughts at the Grave of Beloved Ones, .... Mrs. J. Noi°ton, 108 

The Graves of a Household, Hemans, . . .110 

Retrospect, Tupper, . . . Ill 

Heavenward, Rev. A. C. Coxe, 113 

The Pious Dead, Krummacher, . 115 

Recognition of the Saints in Heaven, Dick, . . . .116 

Heaven, Anonymous, . . 117 

The Spirit's Echo, . . • Mrs. J. Norton, 118 

Detached Thoughts, .119 

Resignation, 127 

Children in Heaven, Anonymous, . . 128 



CONTENTS. 11 

A Cottager's Lament, Anonymous, . . 129 

The Reaper and the Flowers, Longfellow, . .130 

On the Death of an Infant, Hervey, . . .131 

Death of the First Born, Clark, .... 133 

Hymn for an Infant's Funeral, Richmond, . .135 

An Angel Presence, Waterston, . . 136 

Thoughts while making the Grave of a New-born 

Child, Willis, .... 137 

To a Mother bereft of an Infant Daughter, . . . Rev. H. Hooker, 140 
Words of Luther on losing a Daughter, .... Michalet, . . . 141 

Dirge for a Young Girl, Fields, .... 142 

Active Duty alleviates Sorrow, H. More, . . . 143 

To the Memory of a Child, H.W. Rockwell, 144 

To a Bereaved Father, Leighton, . . . 145 

To a Bereaved Mother, J. Q. Adams, . 146 

The Endurance of Afflictions, Hall, .... 148 

Death of an Infant, Sigourney, . .151 

My Child, Pierpont, . . . 152 

Songs in the Night of Bereavement, Winslow, . . . 154 

The Dying Infant to its Mother, Cecil, .... 156 

Condoling Letter to Bereaved Parents, . . . . . Payson, . . . 158 
To a Mother on the Death of a Daughter, .... Mrs. Dana, . . 161 

A Cherub, Doane, .... 162 

Hope, Heber, .... 163 

In Afflictions look to the Savior, Flavel, .... 164 

A Mother's Lament, Montgomery, . 165 

Submission to God in the Hour of Tribulation, . . T. a Kempis, . 167 

To an Infant in Heaven, Ward, .... 169 

God the only Source of all Support and Consolation, Drelincourt, . . 171 

God's Kind Care of us, Quarles, . . . 172 

The Faded One, Clark, .... 173 

The Death of the Flowers, Bryant, . . .174 

A Dirge, Hemans, . . . 176 

The Light above us, LifeMme.Guyon, 178 

The Voice of the Rod, Brooks, ... 179 

Dirge, Landon, . . . 181 

O, stay those Tears, Norton, . . . 182 

Letter to a Bereaved Mother, Mrs. I. Graham, 183 

God a Refuge in Trials, Beddome, . . . 186 

Reminiscences, Montgomery, . 187 

Weep not for the Past, Griswold, . . . 188 

Christian Resignation, H. More, . . . 189 

Resignation, Longfellow, . . 195 

A Belief in a Superintending Providence, &c, . . Wordsworth, . 198 



12 CONTENTS. 



Reasons against Immoderate Sorrow, . . . • . . Patrick, . . . 201 

Submission to Afflictions, Swaine, . . . 212 

Praise for Afflictions, C. Fry, . . .212 

Song of Death, Anonymous, . . 214 

No more, Hemans, . . . 216 

Crossing the Dark River, Monro, . . . 218 

Christians by the River of Death, Mrs.'E. H. Evans, 219 

Pilgrim safely on the other Side of the Dark River, Bunyan, . . . 221 

The Grave, W.Irving, . . 223 

Farewell of the Soul to the Body, Sigourney, . . 226 

Final Reunion of the Soul and Body, Flavel, . . . 228 

Hope for the Mourner, Barton, . . . 230 

Immortality, G. Moore, . . 231 

Intimations of Immortality, Dana, .... 237 

The Resurrection, Melvill, . . . 238 

There is a Land, Rev. A. C. Coxe, 242 

The Dying Christian to his Soul, Pope, .... 244 

The Final Judgment, Harris, . . . 245 

The Day of Judgment, Milman, . . . 250 

The Recognition of Friends in Heaven, .... Dorr, .... 252 

Heaven, Melvill, . . . 259 

O, talk to me of Heaven, Bowles, . . . 262 

The Happiness of Heaven, Dwight, . . . 264 

Heaven, Ken, .... 269 

" What must it be to be there ! " Anonymous, . . 270 

Eternity, Hervey, . . . 271 

The Silent Land, Salis, . ... 272 

Suspiria, Longfelloxo, . . 274 



THE SILENT LAND. 



DEATH. 

Bernard Barton 



It is when death and darkness come, men learn, if 
not before, what their nature is ; to what it is exposed, 
and by what sustained ; what it needs and craves. 
The future and eternity are made sure. They are 
brought close around them. They have an interest 
there now ; they have treasure there. A part of 
themselves is there. The parent who gave them 
being ; the brother or sister who shared that being ; 
the child who was all their own, is there — and they 
are there also. Their nature, all their affections, were 
reposed in those objects ; and you cannot, no power 
can change — death, worlds, cannot sever them wholly. 
Their very removal to an unknown state makes that 
state known. Their flight into the distant and dark 
future illumes that future. The angel of death, who 
bore the loved away, opened the heavens as he as- 
cended ; and now the eye of faith penetrates, the 
heffrt of faith lives, in that spiritual world. There 
is sorrow and trembling yet. But there is hope, the 
anchor of the soul. There is faith, the very substance 
of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. 
2 



14 THE DEAD ARE EVERY WHERE. 

There is prayer and communion, the soul's pinions, on 
which it soars to the bright presence of the spirits it 
here loved, the Savior whom it trusts, the Father in 
whom it dwells. From the region and shadow of 
death, light is sprung up. It is the light of God's 
countenance ; it irradiates the features, the souls, with 
which we have been long familiar — with which we 
may now live forever. 



THE DEAD ARE EVERY WHERE. 

Anon. 

The dead are every where ! 
The mountain side, the plain, the wood profound, 
All the wide earth, the fertile and the fair, 
Is one vast burial ground ! 

Within the populous streets, 
In solitary homes, in places high, 
In pleasure domes, where pomp and luxury meet, 
Men bow themselves to die. 

The old man at his door, 
The unweaned child, murmuring his wordless song, 
The bondman and the free, the rich, the poor, 
All — all to death belong ! 

The sunlight gilds the walls 
Of kingly sepulchres, inwrought with brass ; 



THE DEAD ARE EVERY WHERE. 15 

And the long shadow of the cypress falls 
Athwart the common grass. 

The living of gone time 
Builded their glorious cities by the sea ; 
And, awful in their greatness, sat sublime, 
As if no change could be. 

There was the eloquent tongue ; 
The poet's heart, the sage's soul was there ; 
And loving women, with their children young, 
The faithful and the fair. 

They were, but they are not. 
Suns rose and set, and earth put on her bloom ; 
Whilst man, submitting to the common lot, 
Went down into the tomb. 

And still amid the wrecks 
Of mighty generations passed away, 
Earth's honest growth, the fragrant wild flower, decks 
The tomb of yesterday. 

And in the twilight deep, 
Go veiled women forth, like her who went — 
Sister of Lazarus — to the grave to weep, 
To breathe in low lament. 

The dead are every where ! 
Where'er is love, or tenderness, or faith ; 
Where'er is pleasure, pomp, or pride ; where'er 
Life is or was, is death ! 



16 BLESSED ARE THE DEAD. 



BLESSED ARE THE DEAD. 

Simon Dach. 

0, how blessed are ye whose toils are ended ! 
Who, through death, have unto God ascended ! 

Ye have arisen 
Prom the cares which keep us still in prison. 

We are still as in a dungeon living, 

Still oppressed with sorrow and misgiving ; 

Our undertakings 
Are but toils, and troubles, and heart-breakings. 

Ye, meanwhile, are in your chambers sleeping, 
Quiet, and set free from all our weeping ; 

No cross nor trial 
Hinders your enjoyments with denial. 

Christ has wiped away your tears forever ; 
Ye have that for which we still endeavor. 

To you are chanted 
Songs which yet no mortal ear have haunted. 

Ah, who would not, then, depart with gladness, 
To inherit heaven for earthly sadness ? 

Who here would languish 
Longer in bewailing and in anguish ? 



DUTY OF COMFORTING THE AFFLICTED. 17 

Come, Christ, and loose the chains that bind us ; 
Lead us forth, and cast this world behind us. 

"With thee, th' Anointed, 
Finds the soul its joy and rest appointed. 



DUTY OF COMFORTING THE AFFLICTED. 

Jeremy Taylor. 

Certain it is, that as nothing can better do it, so 
there is nothing greater, for which God made our 
tongues, next to reciting his praises, than to minister 
comfort to a weary soul. And what greater measure 
can we have than that we should bring joy to our 
brother, who, with his dreary eyes, looks to heaven 
and round about, and cannot find so much rest as to 
lay his eyelids close together — than that thy tongue 
should be tuned with heavenly accents, and make the 
weary soul to listen for light and ease ; and when he 
perceives that there is such a thing in the world, and 
in the order of things, as comfort and joy, to begin to 
break out from the prison of his sorrows at the door 
of sighs and tears, and by little and little melt into 
showers and refreshment ? This is glory to thy voice, 
and employment fit for the brightest angel. But so 
have I seen the sun kiss the frozen earth, which was 
bound up with the images of death, and the colder 
breath of the north ; and then the waters break from 
their enclosures, and melt with joy, and run in useful 
2* 



18 THE HOUR OF DEATH. 

channels ; and the flies do rise again from their little 
graves in walls, and dance a while in the air, to tell 
that there is joy within, and that the great mother of 
creatures will open the stock of her new refreshment, 
become useful to mankind, and sing praises to her Re- 
deemer. So is the heart of a sorrowful man under the 
discourses of a wise comforter ; he breaks from the 
despairs of the grave, and the fetters and chains of 
sorrow ; he blesses God, and he blesses thee, and he 
feels his life returning ; for to be miserable is death, 
but nothing is life but to be comforted ; and God is 
pleased with no music from below so much as in the 
thanksgiving songs of relieved widows, of supported 
orphans, of rejoicing, and comforted, and thankful 
persons. 

" Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom 
he receiveth. If ye endure chastening, God dealeth with you as with sons ; 
for what son is he whom the father chasteneth not?" — Hebrews xii. 



THE HOUR OF DEATH. 

Mrs. Hemans. 

Leaves have their time to fall, 
And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath 

And stars to set — but all, 
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, Death ! 

Day is for mortal care ; 
Eve, for glad meetings round the joyous hearth ; 






THE HOUR OF DEATH. 19 

Night, for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer — 
But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth. 

The banquet hath its hour — 
Its feverish hour — of mirth, and song, and wine ; 

There comes a day for griefs overwhelming power, 
A time for softer tears — but all are thine. 

Youth and the opening rose 
May look like things too glorious for decay, 

And smile at thee — but thou art not of those 
That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey. 

Leaves have their time to fall, 
And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, 

And stars to set — but all, 
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, Death ! 

We know when moons shall wane, 
"When summer birds from far shall cross the sea, 

When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain — 
But who shall teach us when to look for thee ? 

Is it when Spring's first gale 
Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie ? 
Is it when roses in our paths grow pale ? — 
They have one season — all are ours to die. 

Thou art where billows foam ; 
Thou art where music melts upon the air ; 

Thou art around us in our peaceful home ; 
And the world calls us forth — and thou art there. 



20 WHAT IS DEATH? 

Thou art where friend meets friend, 
Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest ; 

Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend 
The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest. 

Leaves have their time to fall, 
And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, 

And stars to set — but all, 
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, Death ! 



" It is not the design or plan of God — his nature will not allow of any- 
such design or plan — to deprive his creatures of happiness, but only to 
pour the cup of bitterness into all that happiness, and smite all that joy 
and prosperity which the creature has in any thing out of Himself." — 
Fenelon. 






WHAT IS DEATH? 

Rev. George Ceoley. 

What is death ? 'tis to be free ; 

No more to love, or hope, or fear ; 
To join the dread equality ; 
All, all alike are humble there. 
The mighty wave 
Wraps lord and slave. 
Nor pride, nor poverty, dares come 
Within that refuge house — the tomb, 



WHAT IS DEATH? 21 

Spirit with the drooping wing, 

And the ever-weeping eye, 
Thou of all earth's kings art king ; 
Empires at thy footstool lie. 
Beneath thee strewed, 
Their multitude 
Sink like waves upon the shore ; 
Storms shall never rouse them more. 

What's the grandeur of the earth 

To the grandeur round thy throne ? 
Riches, glory, beauty, birth, 
To thy kingdoms all have gone. 
Before thee stand 
The wondrous band — 
Bards, heroes, sages, side by side — 
Who darkened nations when they died. 

Earth hath hosts, but thou canst show 

Many a million for her one. 
Through thy gates the mortal flow 
Has for countless years rolled on. 
Back from the tomb 
No step has come ; 
There fixed till the last thunder's sound 
Shall bid thy prisoners be unbound. 



22 DEATH A SLEEP. 



DEATH A SLEEP. 

Rev. John Harris. 

So ample and sufficient are the preparatory meas- 
ures which Christ has taken for the final extinction 
of death, that he speaks of it in terms of comparative 
disparagement and indifference. So effectually is it 
disarmed and mutilated, and so completely at the dis- 
posal of Christ, that he speaks of it already as if it 
were not. "Whosoever believeth in me shall never 
die." "If a man keep my sayings, he shall never 
taste of death • he shall never see death." In accord- 
ance with these representations, he has given the state 
of death the soft and tranquillizing name of sleep. 

" For if we believe that Jesus died, and rose again, even so them also 
which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him."— 1 Thessalonians iv. 



DEATH AND SLEEP. 23 



DEATH AND SLEEP. 

Krummacher. 

In brotherly embrace walked the Angel of Sleep 
and the Angel of Death upon the earth. It was even- 
ing. They laid themselves down upon a hill not far 
from the dwelling of men. A melancholy silence pre- 
vailed around, and the chimes of the evening bell, in 
the distant hamlet, ceased. Still and silent, as was 
their custom, sat these two beneficent genii of the 
human race, their arms entwined with cordial famil- 
iarity ; and soon the shades of night gathered around 
them. Then arose the Angel of Sleep from his moss- 
grown couch, and strewed with a gentle hand the 
invisible grains of slumber. The evening breeze waft- 
ed them to the quiet dwelling of the tired husbandman, 
infolding in sweet sleep the inmates of the rural cot- 
tage, from the old man upon the staff down to the 
infant in the cradle. The sick forgot their pain ; the 
: mourners their grief ; the poor their care. All eyes 
| closed. His task accomplished, the benevolent Angel 
of Sleep laid himself again by the side of his grave 
brother. " When Aurora awakes/' exclaimed he, with 
innocent joy, " men praise me as their friend and ben- 
efactor. 0, what happiness, unseen and secretly, to 
confer such benefits ! How blessed are we to be the 
! invisible messengers of the Good Spirit ! How beau- 
tiful is our silent calling!" So spake the friendly 
Angel of Slumber. 



24 HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP. 

The Angel of Death sat with still deeper melancholy 
on his brow, and a tear, such as mortals shed, appeared 
in his large dark eyes. " Alas ! " said he, " I may not, 
like thee, rejoice in the cheerful thanks of mankind ; 
they call me, upon the earth, their enemy and joy 
killer." " my brother," replied the gentle Angel of 
Slumber, " and will not the good man, at his awaken- 
ing, recognize in thee his friend and benefactor, and 
gratefully bless thee in his joy ? Are we not brothers, 
and ministers of one Father ? " As he spoke, the eyes 
of the Death Angel beamed with pleasure, and again 
did the two friendly genii cordially embrace each 
other. 



"HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP." 

Bishop Spencer. 

I tread the churchyard's path alone, 

Unseen to shed the gushing tear ; 
I read on many a mouldering stone 

Eond records of the good and dear. 
My soul is well nigh faint with fear, 

Where doubting Mary went to weep. 
And yet what sweet repose is here — 

" He giveth his beloved sleep." 

The world is but a feverish rest, 
To weary pilgrims sometimes given, 

When pleasure's cup has lost its zest, 
And glory's hard-earned crown is riven. 



HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP. 25 

Here, softer than the dews of even 
Fall peaceful on the slumbering deep, 

Asleep to earth, awake to heaven — 
" He giveth his beloved sleep. 77 

Yes, on the grave's hard pillow rise 

No cankering cares, no dreams of woe ; 
On earth we close our aching eyes, 

And heavenward all our visions grow. 
The airs of Eden round us flow, 

And in their balm our slumbers steep. 
God calls his chosen home, and so 

" He giveth his beloved sleep. 77 

Ah ! vainly would the human voice, 

In this dull world of sin and folly, 
Tell how the sainted dead rejoice 

In those high realms where joy is holy — 
Where no dim shade of melancholv 

Beclouds the rest which angels keep ; 
Where, peace and bliss united wholly, 

" He giveth his beloved sleep. 77 

If on that brow, so fair and young, 

Affliction trace an early furrow ; 
If Hope 7 s too dear delusive tongue 

Has broke its promise of to-morrow ; — 
Seek not the world again, to borrow 

The deathful print its votaries reap. 
Man gives his loved ones pain and sorrow, 

God " giveth his beloved sleep. 77 
3 



26 THE DEATH BED. 



• 



THE DEATH BED. 

Thomas Hood. 

We watched her breathing through the night, 

Her breathing soft and low, 
As in her breast the wave of life 

Kept heaving to and fro. 

So silently we seemed to speak, 

So slowly moved about, 
As we had lent her half our powers 

To eke her being out. 

Our very hopes belied our fears, 

Our fears our hopes belied ; 
We thought her dying when she slept, 

And sleeping when she died. 

For when the morn came dim and sad, 

And chill with early showers, 
Her quiet eyelids closed ; — she had 

Another morn than ours. 



" We spend our years as a tale that is told. The days of our years are 
threescore years and ten ; and if, by reason of strength, they be fourscore 
years, yet is their strength labor and sorrow : for it is soon cut off, and we 
flyaway." — Psalm xc. 



i 



MUSIC AT A DEATH BED. 27 



MUSIC AT A DEATH BED. 

Mrs. Hemans. 

Bring music ! stir the brooding air 

With an ethereal breath ; 
Bring sounds, my struggling soul to bear 

Up from the couch of death ! 

A voice, a flute, a dreamy lay, 

Such as the southern breeze 
Might waft, at golden fall of day, 

O'er blue transparent seas ? 

0, no ! not such : that lingering spell 

Would lure me back to life, 
When my weaned heart hath said farewell, 

And passed the gates of strife. 

Let not a sigh of human love 

Blend with the song its tone ! 
Let no disturbing echo move 

One that must die alone ! 

But pour a solemn breathing strain 
Filled with the soul of prayer ! 

Let a life's conflict, fear, and pain, 
And trembling hope, be there. 



28 PRAISE IN TIMES OP AFFLICTION. 

Deeper, yet deeper ! in my thought 
Lies more prevailing sound, 

A harmony intensely fraught 
With pleading more profound. 

A passion unto music given, 

A sweet yet piercing cry, 
A breaking heart's appeal to Heaven, 

A bright faith's victory. 

Deeper ! 0, may no richer power 
Be in those notes enshrined ? 

Can all, which crowds on earth's last hour, 
No fuller language find ? 

Away, and hush the feeble song, 
And let the chord be stilled ; 

For in another land ere long 
My dream shall be fulfilled. 



PRAISE IN TIMES OF AFFLICTION. 

Rev. H. Melvill. 

Was it a strange preparation for the Mount of 
Olives and the Garden of Gethsemane, to commemo- 
rate the mercies and chant the praises of the most 
high God? Nay, it is recorded of Luther that, on 
receiving any discouraging news, he was wont to say, 
"Come, let us sing the forty-sixth psalm" — that 



.. 



PRAISE IN TIMES OF AFFLICTION. 29 

psalm which commences with the words, " God is our 
refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble ; 
therefore will not we fear, though the earth be re- 
moved, and though the mountains be carried into the 
midst of the sea." And it were well for us if, in 
seasons of trouble, we betook ourselves to praise, and 
not only to prayer. If we find ourselves in circum- 
stances of difficulty, if dangers surround us, and duties 
seem too great for our strength, we almost naturally 
cry unto God, and entreat of him assistance and 
guardianship. And indeed we do right. God has 
made our receiving conditional on our asking ; and 
we can never be too diligent in supplicating at his 
hands the supply of our many necessities. But ought 
we to confine ourselves to prayer, as though praise 
were out of place when mercies are needed, and only 
become us when they have just been received ? Not 
so ; praise is the best auxiliary to prayer ; and he who 
most bears in mind what has been done for him by 
God, will be most emboldened to supplicate fresh gifts 
from above. We should recount God's mercies ; we 
should call upon our souls, and all that is within us, 
to laud and magnify his name when summoned to face 
new trials, and encounter fresh dangers. Would it 
sound strange if, on approaching the chamber where 
the father of a family had just breathed his last, you 
heard voices mingling, not in a melancholy chant, but 
rather in one of lofty commemoration, such as might 
be taken from the Jewish Hallel, " The Lord hath been 
mindful of us ; he will bless us ; he will bless the house 
of Israel ; he will bless the house of Aaron n ? " The 
Lord is on my side : I will not fear what man can do 
3* 



30 PRAISE IN TIMES OF AFFLICTION. 

unto me." Would you be disposed to say that the 
widow and the orphans, whose voices you recognized 
in the thankful anthem, were strangely employed ? 
and that the utterances over the dead would have 
more fittingly been those of earnest petition unto 
God, of deep-drawn entreaty for the light of his 
countenance and the strength of his spirit ? Nay, the 
widow and her orphans, if not actually praying the 
most effectual of prayers, would be thereby most 
effectually preparing themselves for praying unto 
God. If, now that their chief earthly stay is removed, 
they have to enter on a dark and dangerous path, they 
cannot do better than thus call to mind what the 
Almighty has proved himself to others and them- 
selves. The anthem is the best prelude to the sup- 
plication ; and their first step towards the Mount of 
Olives will be all the firmer, if, before they cry, " Hold 
thou up our goings in thy paths/ 7 they join in the song, 
"His merciful kindness is great towards us, and the 
truth of the Lord endureth forever ; praise ye the 
Lord. 77 .... Christ and his apostles " sang a hymn, 77 
ere " they went out into the Mount of Olives. 77 What 
had music, cheerful and animated music, to do with so 
sad and solemn an occasion ? Nay, there is music in 
heaven : they who stand on the " sea of glass mingled 
with fire 77 have " the harps of God 77 in their hands ; 
" they sing the song of Moses, the servant of God, and 
the song of the Lamb. 77 Why, then, should music ever 
be out of place with those whose affections are above ? 
It would not be out of place in the chamber of the 
dying believer. He has just received, through the 
holy mystery of the eucharist, the body and the blood 



REJOICING IN HEAVEN. 31 

of his blessed Kedeemer. And now his own failing 
voice, and the voices of relatives and friends, join in 
chanting words the conclusion of the sacramental 
service : " Glory be to God on high, and on earth 
peace, good will towards men. We praise thee, we 
bless thee, we worship thee, we glorify thee, we give 
thanks to thee for thy great glory, Lord God, heav- 
enly King, God the Father Almighty." "Wonder ye, 
that, when there was the option either to say or to 
sing, they chose the singing at such a moment ? Nay, 
they all felt that they had a rough hill to climb ; and 
they remembered that, when Christ and his apostles 
had finished their last supper, "they sang a hymn," 
and then " went out into the Mount of Olives." 



REJOICING IN HEAVEN. 

Maky Ho witt. 

spirit, freed from bondage, 
Eejoice, thy work is done ! 

The weary world is 7 neath thy feet, 
Thou brighter than the sun ! 

Awake, and breathe the living air 

Of our celestial clime ! 
Awake to love that knows no change, 

Thou who hast done with time ! 



32 THE FAREWELL TO THE DEAD. 

Awake ! lift up thy joyful eyes, — 
See, all heaven's host appears ; 

And be thou glad exceedingly, 
Thou who hast done with tears ! 

Awake ! ascend. Thou art not now 
With those of mortal birth ; 

The living God hath touched thy lips, 
Thou who hast done with earth. 



THE FAREWELL TO THE DEAD. 

Mrs. Hemans. 

Come near. Ere yet the dust 
Soil the bright paleness of the settled brow, 
Look on your brother, and embrace him now 

In still and solemn trust. 
Come near. Once more let kindred lips be pressed 
On his cold cheek ; then bear him to his rest. 

* Look yet on this young face. 
What shall the beauty, from amongst us gone, 
Leave of its image, even where most it shone, 

Gladdening its hearth and race ? 
Dim grows the semblance on man's heart impressed. 
Come near, and bear the beautiful to rest. 



THE FAREWELL TO THE DEAD. 33 



Ye weep — and it is well ; 
For tears befit earth's partings. Yesterday, 
$ong was upon the lips of this pale clay, 

And sunshine seemed to dwell 
Where'er he moved, the welcomed and the blessed. 
Now gaze — and bear the silent unto rest. 

Look yet on him whose eye 
Meets yours no more in sadness or in mirth. 
Was he not fair amidst the sons of earth — 

The beings born to die ? 
But not where death has power may love be blessed, 
Come near, and bear ve the beloved to rest. 

How may the mother's heart 
Dwell on her son, and dare to hope again ? 
The spring's rich promise hath been given in vain — 

The lovely must depart. 
Is he, not gone, our brightest and our best ? 
Come near, and bear the early-called to rest. 

Look on him. Is he laid 
To slumber from the harvest or the chase ? — 
Too still and sad the smile upon his face ; 

Yet that, even that, must fade. 
Death holds not long unchanged his fairest guest. 
Come near, and bear the mortal to his rest. 

His voice of mirth hath ceased 
Amidst the vineyards. There is left no place 
For him, whose dust receives your vain embrace, 

At the gay bridal feast. 



34 AGAINST REPINING AT DEATH. 

Earth must take earth to moulder on her breast. 
Come near ; weep o'er him ; — bear him to his rest. 

Yet mourn ye not as they 
Whose spirit's light is quenched. Tor him the past 
Is sealed. He may not fall ; he may not cast 

His birthright's hope away. 
All is not here of our beloved and blessed — 
Leave ye the sleeper with his God to rest ! 



AGAINST REPINING AT DEATH. 

William Drummond. 

Eternal things are raised far above the sphere of 
generation and corruption, where the first matter, like 
an ever-flowing and ebbing sea, with divers waves, 
but the same water, keepeth a restless and never- 
tiring current. What is below, in the universality of 
the kind, not in itself doth abide. Man a long line 
of years hath continued ; this man, every hundred, is 
swept away. 

This earth is as a table book, and men are the 
notes : the first are washen out, that new may be 
written in. They who forewent us did leave a room 
for us ; and should we grieve to do the same to those 
who should come after us? Who, being suffered to 
see the exquisite rarities of an antiquary's cabinet, is 
grieved that the curtain be drawn, and to give place 



MOURN NOT THE DEAD. 35 

to new pilgrims? And when the Lord of this universe 
hath showed us the amazing wonders of his various 
frame, should we take it to heart when he thinketh 
time to dislodge ? This is his unalterable and inevita- 
ble decree : as we had no part of our will in our 
entrance into this life, we should not presume to any 
in our leaving it, but soberly learn to will that which 
He wills, whose very will giveth being to all that it 
wills ; and, reverencing the Orderer, not repine at the 
order and laws which, ail-where and always, are so 
perfectly established, that who would essay to correct 
and amend any of them, he should either make them 
worse or desire things beyond the level of possibility. 



MOURN NOT THE DEAD. 

Eliza Cook. 

Mourn not the dead — shed not a tear 
Above the moss-stained sculptured stone, 

But weep for those whose living woes 
Still yield the bitter, rending groan. 

Grieve not to see the eyelids close 
In rest that has no fevered start ; 

Wish not to break the deep repose 

That curtains round the pulseless heart. 



36 MOURN NOT THE DEAD. 

But keep thy pity for the eyes 

That pray for night, yet fear to sleep, 

Lest wilder, sadder visions rise 

Than those o'er which they waking weep. 

Mourn not the dead — 'tis they alone 
Who are the peaceful and the free ; 

The purest olive branch is known 
To twine about the cypress tree. 

Crime, pride, and passion hold no more 
The willing or the struggling slave ; 

The throbbing pangs of love are o'er, 
And hatred dwells not in the grave. 

The world may pour its venomed blame, 
And fiercely spurn the shroud-wrapped bier ; 

Some few may call upon the name, 
And sigh to meet a " dull, cold ear." 

But vain the scorn that would offend, 
And vain the lips that would beguile ; 

The coldest foe, the warmest friend, 

Are mocked by Death's unchanging smile. 

The only watchword that can tell 
Of peace and freedom won by all 

Is echoed by the tolling bell, 
And traced upon the sable pall. 

"The heart knows that it may sorrow ; that no prohibition has been 
uttered to stifle the voice of woe. Rachel was not chid when she wept 



SPIRITUAL MERCIES BETTER THAN TEMPORAL. 37 



for her children ; and that grief in itself is perfectly innocent, who shall 
deny, when we point to the Holy One, ' a man of sorrows, and acquainted 
with grief,' throughout the whole course of his visible abode among the 
sons of Adam ? The stillness commanded is not that of apathy, or of 
indifference, or of forced acquiescence: it is a patient waiting for the 
promised crown, while bending under the predicted cross.'* — Charlotte 
Elizabeth. 



BETTER TO LOSE TEMPORAL THAN SPIRITUAL 

MERCIES. 

Rev. Thomas Brooks. 

Thou canst not tell how bad thy heart might have 
proved under the enjoyment of those near and dear 
mercies that thou now hast lost. In the winter men 
gird their clothes close about them, but in the summer 
they let them hang loose. In the winter of adversity 
many a Christian girds his heart close to God. to 
Christ, to godliness, to duties, who, in the summer 
of mercy, hangs loose from all. 

Who can seriously consider this, and not hold his 
peace, even then when God takes a jewel out of his 
bosom ? Heap all the sweetest contentments and 
most desirable enjoyments of this world upon a man, 
they will not make him a Christian ; heap them upon 
a Christian, they will not make him a better Chris- 
tian. Many a Christian hath been made worse by the 
good things of this world ; but where is the Christian 
that hath been bettered by them ? Therefore be quiet 
when God strips thee of them. 
4 



38 SPIRITUAL MERCIES BETTER THAN TEMPORAL. 

Get thy heart more affected with spiritual losses, 
and then thy soul will be less afflicted with temporal 
losses. Hast thou lost nothing of that presence of 
God that once thou hadst with thy spirit? Hast 
thou lost none of those warmings, meltings, quicken- 
ings, and cheerings that once thou hadst ? Hast thou 
lost nothing of thy communion with God, nor of the 
joys of the Spirit, nor of that peace of conscience, that 
thou once enjoyedst? Hast thou lost none of that 
ground that once thou hadst got upon sin, Satan, and 
the world ? Hast thou lost nothing of that holy vigor, 
and heavenly heat, that once thou hadst in thy heart ? 
If thou hast not, — which would be a miracle, a won- 
der, — why dost thou complain of this or that temporal 
loss ? For what is this but to complain of the loss of 
thy purse, when thy gold is safe ? But if thou art a 
loser in spirituals, why dost thou not rather complain 
that thou hast lost thy God, than that thou hast lost 
thy gold ? and that thou hast lost thy Christ, than that 
thou hast lost thy husband? and that thou hast lost 
thy peace, than that thou hast lost thy child ? and 
that thou art a loser in spirituals, than that thou art 
a loser in temporals? Dost thou mourn over the body 
the soul hath left ? Mourn rather over the soul that 
God hath forsaken, as Samuel did for Saul, (1 Sam. 
xv. 35.) 



ON THE DEATH OP JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE. 39 



ON THE DEATH OF JOSEPH EODMAN DRAKE. 

Fitz-Gkeene Halleck. 

Green be the turf above thee, 

Friend of my better days ! 
None knew thee but to love thee, 

Nor named thee but to praise. 

Tears fell, when thou wert dying, 

From eyes unused to weep ; 
And long, where thou art lying, 

Will tears the cold turf steep. 

When hearts, whose truth was proven, 

Like thine, are laid in earth, 
There should a wreath be woven, 

To tell the world their worth. 

And I, who woke each morrow 

To clasp thy hand in mine, 
Who shared thy joy and sorrow, 

Whose weal and woe were thine, — 

It should be mine to braid it 

Around thy faded brow ; 
But I've in vain essayed it, 

And feel I cannot now. 



40 DEATH NOT FORMIDABLE TO THE CHRISTIAN. 

While memory bids me weep thee, 
Nor thoughts nor words are free, 

The grief is fixed too deeply, 
That mourns a man like thee. 



DEATH NOT FORMIDABLE TO THE CHRISTIAN. 

Saurin. 

Death has nothing that is formidable to the Chris- 
tian. In the tomb of Jesus Christ are dissipated all 
the terrors which the tomb of nature presents. In 
the tomb of nature I perceive a gloomy night, which 
the eye is unable to penetrate ; in the tomb of Jesus 
Christ I behold light and life. In the tomb of nature 
the punishment of sin stares me in the face ; in the 
tomb of Jesus Christ I find the expiation of it. In 
the tomb of nature I read the fearful doom pronounced 
upon Adam, and upon all his miserable posterity, 
" Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return," (Gen. 
iii. 19 ;) but in the tomb of Jesus Christ my tongue is 
loosed into this triumphant song of praise : " death, 
where is thy sting ? grave, where is thy victory ? 
.... Thanks be to God who giveth us the victory, 
through our Lord Jesus Christ." (1 Cor. xv. 55, 57.) 
" Through death he hath destroyed him that had the 
power of death, that is, the devil ; that he might de- 
liver them who, through fear of death, were all their 
lifetime subject to bondage." 



DEATH NO LONGER THE KING OF TERRORS. 41 



DEATH NO LONGER THE KING OF TERRORS. 

G. Moore. 

The true believer always connects the moral attri- 
butes of Deity with, his conceptions of divine power ; 
and with him, therefore, providence is but another 
name for the Creator's faithfulness to his creatures. 
Throughout the wide universe, Faith beholds evidence 
that goodness regulates might ; so that all her expec- 
tations are raptures, because all futurity, all eternity, 
can be nothing but the unfolding of love. Hence 
Death is no longer the king of terrors, with uplifted 
hand ready to strike the trembling heart, but like an 
angel at the bed of a slumbering child, fanning it to 
sleep with a lily plucked from paradise, and filling 
the soul with visions of heaven, by blending in bright- 
ness, before its eyes, the sweetest images of earthly 
beauty and affection. 



42 HE HAS GONE TO HIS GOD. 



HE HAS GONE TO HIS GOD. 

Andrews Norton. 

He has gone to his God ; he has gone to his home ; 
No more amid peril and error to roam. 
His eyes are no longer dim ; 

His feet will no more falter ; 
No grief can follow him ; 
No pang his cheek can alter. 

There are paleness, and weeping, and sighs below ; 
For our faith is faint, and our tears will flow. 
But the harps of heaven are ringing ; 

Glad angels come to greet him ; 
And hymns of joy are singing, 

While old friends press to meet him. 

0, honored, beloved, to earth unconfined, 
Thou hast soared on high, thou hast left us behind. 
But our parting is not forever ; 

We will follow thee by heaven's light, 
Where the grave cannot dissever 
The souls whom God will unite. 



THE GRAVE. 43 



THE GRAVE. 

James Montgomery. 

There is a calm for those who weep, 

A rest for weary pilgrims found : 
They softly lie, and sweetly sleep, 
Low in the ground. 

The storm, that wrecks the wintry sky, 

No more disturbs their deep repose 
Than summer evening's latest sigh, 
That shuts the rose. 

I long to lay this painful head 

And aching heart beneath the soil, 
To slumber, in that dreamless bed, 
From all my toil. 

The grave, that never spoke before, 

Hath found at length a tongue to chide ; 
0, listen ! I will speak no more — 
Be silent, pride ! 

Art thou a mourner ? Hast thou known 

The joy of innocent delights, 
Endearing days forever flown, 

And tranquil nights ? 



44 THE GRAVE. 

0, live ! and deeply cherish still 

The sweet remembrance of the past ; 
Kely on Heaven's unchanging will 
For peace at last. 

Though long of winds and waves the sport, 

Condemned in wretchedness to roam, 
Live ! thou shalt reach a sheltering port, 
A quiet home. 

Seek the true treasure, seldom found, 

Of power the fiercest griefs to calm, 
And soothe the bosom's deepest wound 
With heavenly balm. 

Whate'er thy lot, where'er thou be, 
Confess thy folly — kiss the rod ; 
And in thy chastening sorrows see 
The hand of God. 



A bruised reed he will not break ; 
Afflictions all his children feel ; 
He wounds them for his mercy's sake — 
He wounds to heal. 



Humbled beneath his mighty hand, 
Prostrate his providence adore : 
'Tis done ! arise ! he bids thee stand, 
To fall no more. 

Now, traveller, in the vale of tears, 
To realms of everlasting light, 



THE GRAVE. 45 

Through time's dark wilderness of years, 
Pursue thy flight. 

There is a calm for those who weep, 
A rest for weary pilgrims found ; 
And while the mouldering ashes sleep 
Low in the ground, — 

The soul, of origin divine, 

God's glorious image freed from clay, 
In heaven's eternal sphere shall shine 
A star of day ! 

The sun is but a spark of fire, 

A transient meteor in the sky ; 
The soul, immortal as its Sire, 

Shall never die! 



THE GRAVE, 



Jones 



" Man goeth to his long home ; " to " the house 
appointed for all living." " There the wicked cease 
from troubling, and there the weary be at rest. 
There the prisoners rest together ; they hear not the 
voice of the oppressor. The small and great are 
there ; and the servant is free from his master." 



46 THE GRAVE. 

As a flower of the field, so man springs up, grows, 
flourishes, and fades, and disappears. He may be cut 
off in the morning, or in the midst, of his days, or his 
existence may be prolonged to old age ; but every 
step that he takes on earth is a step towards the 
grave. The day will come when the frail tenement 
shall be consigned to the dust. " I have said to cor- 
ruption, Thou art my father ; to the worm, Thou art 
my mother and my sister." 

This world will soon be to me a mere nothing. I 
shall exist, but I shall be a stranger to the plans, 
cares, sorrows, and vicissitudes of my successors in this 
vale of tears. I shall soon be forgotten ; and ages 
will revolve, and generation succeed generation, while 
this dust and ashes shall be mingled with the clods 
of the valley, and with the elements of nature. But 
while I meditate on what lies before me, let me not 
fail to gather substantial improvement from the sub- 
ject. Lessons of piety are valuable lessons. While 
then I look upon the grave, let me learn the necessity 
of dying to the world, before I die in it. Let me be 
urged to lay up treasures for that state of being where 
there is no change and no end. 

Is the grave to be ere long my dwelling ? How, then, 
can I fix my heart on earthly things ? The rich, and 
great, and wise, and powerful among men go down to 
the chambers of silence. " We brought nothing into 
this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. 
And having food and raiment, let us be therewith con- 
tent." The shroud, the coffin, the bier, and the grave 
— these teach me the emptiness of the world, and the 



THE GRAVE. 47 

vanity and folly of ambition and avarice. I think of 
these, and the pageantry of the world melts from my 
view as a gilded shadow. 

Is the grave to be ere long my dwelling? How 
can I regard pleasure and gratification as my chief 
good? How can I be anxious to adorn the body 
with fashion and finery ? I think on the grave, and 
I am compelled to own that I act a most unworthy 
part if I allow, for a moment, the lust of the flesh, 
and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, to be 
my masters. 

Is the grave to be ere long my dwelling ? Then 

let me look to things that survive the desolation of 

the grave. The immaterial soul is to act its part in 

an imperishable world, where it will be rich or poor, 

glorious or degraded, happy or miserable, forever. 

The body shall slumber in the grave for a season, 

but the soul is immortal. It is, then, my wisdom to 

love, and seek, and esteem, and pursue those things 

which will never decay ; over which death and the 

grave have no dominion ; that I may be rich, and 

happy, yea, blessed forevermore. 

• • . . • 

my soul! let me often meditate on the grave. 
There, indeed, thou wilt not enter ; for when the frail 
dust lodges there, thou wilt be in another world. Let 
thy attention, then, be faithfully given to the gospel 
of Christ, to the great things of religion, that it may 
be well with thee. Strive to live more and more as 
one who is to live here only for a little time, and 
who is to live in another state forever. In the 
strength of divine grace rise more above the world ; 



48 THE LANGUAGE OF A GRAVESTONE. 

rise more above the hostile power of flesh and blood ; 
rise higher towards thy God and Savior, and things 
invisible; press nearer to them. Then thou inayst 
view the brevity of time, the decay of nature, and the 
triumph of the grave, with dignified serenity ; for 
eternal life is thy inheritance. 

blessed and glorious God, the Author of all good, 
enable me not only to meditate on serious things, but 
also to profit by my meditations on them. Enable 
me, by the grace of thy Holy Spirit, so to believe 
and live, that I may go down to the grave in sure and 
certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life, through 
the mediation and intercession of Jesus Christ, our 
only Lord and Savior, Amen. 



THE LANGUAGE OF A GRAVESTONE. 

Charlotte Elizabeth. 

"Stop/ 7 says the crumbling monument of by-gone 
generations, — " stop, passenger, and mark me. Here 
lies a brother of your race ; I show you precisely 
where he was laid under the sod. Dig, now, even 
to the centre, in quest of the frame so fearfully and 
wonderfully made. Search, sift every handful of earth 
as you cast it forth, you shall not find a vestige of my 
charge. All is resolved into the parent element, be- 
yond the power of your keenest investigation to sep- 
arate or discern the one from the other. Yet read 



HYMN OF THE CHURCHYARD. 49 

me again. Here lies that mortal ; and hence he shall 
again come forth, in a moment, in the twinkling of an 
eye, at the last trump. What you toss around you is 
the corruptible that must put on incorruption ; the 
mortal that must put on immortality. Go learn from 
my defaced surface a lesson of faith : ' Blessed are 
they which believe, yet see not. 7 " 



HYMN OP THE CHURCHYABD. 

John Bethxjne. 

Ah me ! this is a sad and silent city : 
Let me walk softly o'er it, and survey 

Its grassy streets with melancholy pity. 

Where are its children? where their gleesome 

' play? 
Alas ! their cradled rest is cold and deep, — 
Their playthings are thrown by, and they asleep. 

This is pale beauty's bourn : but where the beautiful 
Whom I have seen come forth at evening's hours, 

Leading their aged friends, with feelings dutiful, 
Amid the wreaths of spring, to gather flowers ? 

Alas ! no flowers are here but flowers of death, 

And those who once were sweetest sleep beneath. 

This is a populous place : but where the bustling, — 
The crowded buyers of the noisy mart, — 

5 



50 HYMN OF THE CHURCHYARD. 

The lookers on, — the snowy garments rustling, — 

The money changers, — and the men of art ? 
Business, alas ! hath stopped in mid career, 
And none are anxious to resume it here. 

This is the home of grandeur : where are they — 
The rich, the great, the glorious, and the wise ? 

Where are the trappings of the proud, the gay — 
The gaudy guise of human butterflies ? 

Alas ! all lowly lies each lofty brow, 

And the green sod dizens their beauty now. 

This is a place of refuge and repose : 

Where are the poor, the old, the weary wight, 

The scorned, the humble, and the man of woes, 
Who wept for morn, and sighed again for night ? 

Their sighs at last have ceased, and here they sleep 

Beside their scorners, and forget to weep. 

This is a place of gloom : where are the gloomy ? 

The gloomy are not citizens of death : 
Approach and look where the long grass is plumy ; 

See them above ; they are not found beneath ; 
For these low denizens, with artful wiles, 
Nature, in flowers, contrives her mimic smiles. 

This is a place of sorrow : friends have met 

And mingled tears o'er those who answered not. 

And where are they whose eyelids then were wet ? 
Alas ! their griefs, their tears, are all forgot : 

They, too, are landed in this silent city, 

Where there is neither love, nor tears, nor pity. 



CHOICE OF BURIAL-PLACE. 51 

This is a place of fear : the firmest eye 
Hath quailed to see its shadowy dreariness ; 

But Christian hope, and heavenly prospects high, 
And earthly cares, and nature's weariness, 

Have made the timid pilgrim cease to fear, 

And long to end his painful journey here. 



CHOICE OP BURIAL-PLACE. 

Rev. Henry Melvill. 

It is not a Christian thing to die manifesting indif- 
ference as to what is done with the body. That body 
is redeemed : not a particle of its dust but was bought 
with drops of Christ's precious blood. That body is 
appointed to a glorious condition : not a particle of 
the corruptible but what shall put on incorruption ; of 
the mortal that shall not assume immortality. The 
Christian knows this ; it is not the part of a Christian 
to seem unmindful of this. He may, therefore, as he 
departs, speak of the place where he would wish to 
be laid. " Let me sleep/ 7 he may say, " with my father 
and my mother, with my wife and my children : lay 
me not here, in this distant land, where my dust can- 
not mingle with its kindred. I would be chimed to 
my grave by my own village bell, and have my 
requiem sung where I was baptized in Christ." Mar- 
vel ye at such last words? "Wonder ye that one 
whose spirit is just entering the separate state should 



52 god's-acre. 

have this care for the body which he is about to 
leave to the worms ? Nay, he is a believer in Jesus 
as " the resurrection and the life ; " this belief prompts 
his dying words ; and it shall have to be said of him, 
as of Joseph, that " by faith M yea, " by faith," he " gave 
commandment concerning his bones," 



GOD'S-ACRE. 

H. W. Longfellow. 

I like the ancient Saxon phrase, which calls * 
The burial ground God's- Acre. It is just ; 

It consecrates each grave within its walls, 
And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust. 

God's- Acre ! Yes, that blessed name imparts 
Comfort to those who in the grave have sown 

The seed that they had garnered in their hearts, 
Their bread of life, alas ! no more their own. 

Into its furrows shall we all be cast, 

In the sure faith that we shall rise again 

At the great harvest, when th' archangel's blast 
Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain. 

Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom 
In the fair gardens of that second birth ; 

And each bright blossom mingle its perfume 
With that of flowers which never bloomed on earth. 



THEY ARE ALL GONE. 53 

With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod, 
And spread the furrow for the seed we sow ; 

This is the field and Acre of our God — 
This is the place where human harvests grow. 



THEY ARE ALL GONE. 

Henry Vattghan. 

They are all gone into a world of light, 

And I alone sit lingering here ; 
Their very memory is fair and bright, 

And my sad thoughts doth clear. 

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast 
Like stars upon some gloomy grove, 

Or those faint beams in which the hill is dressed 
After the sun's remove. 

I see them walking in an air of glory, 

Whose light doth trample on my days — 

My days which are at best but dull and hoary, 
Mere glimmerings and decays. 

O, holy hope, and high humility — 

High as the heavens above ! 
These are your walks, and ye have showed them me, 

To kindle my cold love. 

5* 



54 IN AFFLICTION LOOK TO JESUS. 

Dear, beauteous Death — the jewel of the just — 

Shining nowhere but in the dark ; 
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, 

Could man outlook that mark ! 

He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may 
know 

At first sight if the bird be flown ; 
But what fair field or grove he sings in now, 

That is to him unknown. 

And yet as angels, in some brighter dreams, 
Call to the soul, when man doth sleep, 

So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted 
themes, 
And into glory peep. 






IN AFFLICTION LOOK TO JESUS. 

OCTAVIUS WlNSLOW. 

In each season of affliction, to whom can we more 
appropriately look than to Jesus? He was preem- 
inently the man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief. 
If you would tell your grief to one who knew grief 
as none ever knew it ; if you would weep upon the 
bosom of one who wept as none ever wept ; if you 
would disclose your sorrow to one who sorrowed as 









IN AFFLICTION LOOK TO JESUS. 55 

none ever sorrowed ; if you would bare your wound 
to one who was wounded as none ever was wounded, 
— then, in your affliction, turn from all creature sympa- 
thy and succor, and look to Jesus: to a kinder nature, 
to a tenderer bosom, to a deeper love, to a more pow- 
erful arm, to a more sympathizing friend, you could 
not take your trial, your affliction, and your sorrow. 
He is prepared to imbosom himself in your deepest 
grief, and to make your circumstances all his own. 
So completely and personally is he one with you, that 
nothing can affect you that does not instantly touch 
him. . . . God's family is a sorrowing family. " I 
have chosen thee," he says, " in the furnace of afflic- 
tion." " I will leave in the midst of thee a poor and 
an afflicted people." The history of the church finds 
its fittest emblem in the burning, yet unconsumed, 
bush which Moses saw. Man is " born to sorrow ; " 
but the believer is " appointed thereunto." It would 
seem to be a condition inseparable from his high call- 
ing. If he is a " chosen vessel," it is in the " furnace 
of affliction." If he is an adopted child, " chastening " 
is the mark. If he is journeying to the heavenly 
kingdom, his path lies through "much tribulation." 
But if his sufferings abound, much more so do his 
consolations. To be comforted by God may well 
reconcile us to any sorrow with which it may 
please our heavenly Father to invest us. . . . 
Go and breathe your sorrows into God's heart, and 
he will comfort you. Blessed sorrow if, in the time 
of your bereavement, your grief, and your solitude, 
you are led to Jesus, making him your Savior, your 
Friend, your Counsellor, and your Shield. Blessed 



56 BROKEN TIES. 

loss, if it be compensated by a knowledge of God, if 
you find in him a Father now, to whom you will 
transfer your ardent affections, upon whom you will 
repose your bleeding heart, and in whom you will 
trust. 



BROKEN TIES. 

Home Journal. 

? Tis something very sad 
To place our hand in Memory's, and retrace 
With her the paths that trailing years have worn, 
And, in green spots which she shall point us out, 
Pause to recount who sat beside us there, 
And listen while she tells us of the Hours 
That trooped before us, hand in hand with Joy, 
"When we, too, joined the mirthful revellers, 
And thought — if thought, indeed, would sometimes 

come — 
Of life as all one sunbright holiday. 
How vividly they seem to stand again — 
Those dear companions of my morning time — 
In the familiar places ! How I hear 
Their silvery laughter, like the chime of bells, 
Ringing the harmonies of happy hearts ! 
The youth, with flushing cheek, and kindling eye, 
And form and mien of manliest dignity ; 
The graceful girl, with brow most eloquent 
Of love and beauty ; pensive womanhood, 



BROKEN TIES. 57 

And buoyant, bright-haired children. Eagerly 
I turn to clasp them, but they melt away, 
And, phantom-like, all vanish ; and I find 
7 Twas but a mirage memory had evoked, 
To taunt my longing vision. Deeper, then, 
And with an aching sense too real, comes 
Back to my heart that saddest consciousness, 
That only thus can I behold again 
The sweet-remembered faces that are gone. 

Mysteriously a dread and unseen hand 

Cuts at a blow the thousand golden cords 

Whose twisting Love had labored at for years. 

And they who seemed a portion of ourselves — 

Who sat with us beside the household hearth, 

And at the cheerful board, — who had no joy 

Or sorrow that we knew not of, — are snatched 

Forever from our sight ; and we are left, 

Amid our blinding tears, to gather up 

The shattered threads that were so powerless 

To fasten down to earth the subtile soul. 

They have no room for grief, regret, or pain ; 

Seraph capacity of thought is theirs, 

And God and glory overwhelm it all. 

The rupture and the agony are ours. 

Who, in our human weakness, oft forget, 

Or fail to follow, with an eye of faith, 

The joyous spirit in its skyward flight ; 

But weep with an absorbing grief around 

The empty cage of clay. Yet even then 

Gleams forth, with iris beauty, through the storm, 

This blessed hope — that all these broken ties 



58 CONSOLATION. 

Shall be rejoined again ; that we shall meet, 
And have the seal of immortality 
Set to our love by God's own sovereign hand, 
Who thus shall weave these golden, earthly threads 
Into the garments that we wear above. 

" Lord, make me to know mine end, and the measure of my days, what 
it is ; that I may know how frail I am. Behold, thou hast made my days 
as a hand breadth, and mine age is as nothing before thee." — Psalm 
xxxix. 

"Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there 
is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave whither 
thou goest." — Ecclesiastes ix. 



CONSOLATION. 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 

All are not taken ; there are left behind 

Living beloveds, tender looks to bring, 

And make the daylight still a blessed thing, 

And tender voices, to make soft the wind ; 

But if it were not so, — if I could find 

No love in all the world to answer me, 

Nor any pathway but rang hollowly, 

Where "dust to dust" the love from life disjoined, 

And if with parched lips, as in a dearth 

Of water springs the very deserts claim, 

I uttered to those sepulchres unmoving 

The bitter cry, " Where are ye, my loving ? " 

I know a voice would sound, Daughter, I am ! 

Can I suffice for Heaven, and not for earth ? 



CONSOLATORY EPISTLE. 59 



CONSOLATORY EPISTLE. 

St. Basil. 

It is the command of God not to lament the dead, 
in the faith of Christ, because of the hope of the 
resurrection, and that there are great crowns laid up 
for great patience. If we suffer reason to sing these 
things in our ears, we may find some moderate end 
of this evil ; and therefore I exhort thee, as a gen- 
erous combatant, to fortify thyself against the heav- 
iness of this stroke, and not lie down under the 
weight of sorrow. Being persuaded, that though the 
reason of God's dispensations are out of our reach, 
yet we ought entirely to accept that which is ordered 
by one so wise and loving, although it be heavy and 
grievous to be borne ; for he knows how to appoint 
to every one what is profitable, and why he hath set 
unequal terms to our life. The cause is incomprehen- 
sible by us, why some are carried away sooner, and 
others tarry longer in this toilsome and miserable life ; 
so that we ought, in all things, to adore his loving 
kindness, and not to take any thing ill at his hands, 
remembering the great and famous voice of Job, who, 
when he heard that his ten children were all struck 
dead in one moment, said, " The Lord gave, the Lord 
hath taken away : as it pleased the Lord, so it is come 
to pass." Let us make this admirable language our 



60 THE MUCH-LOVED DEAD. 

own. They are rewarded, with an equal recompense, 
by the just Judge, who perform the same worthy ac- 
tions. We are not robbed of a friend, but only have 
restored him to the Lender ; nor is his life extinct, but 
only translated to a better. The earth doth not cover 
our beloved, but heaven hath received him : let us 
tarry a while, and we shall be in his company. 

" But the salvation of the righteous is of the Lord : he is their strength 
in the time of trouble. And the Lord shall help them ; he shall deliver 
them from the wicked, and save them, because they trust in him." — 
Psalm xxxvii. 



THE MUCH-LOVED DEAD. 



Mary E. Lee 



" la vita ! la morte ! 
Belle e dolce morir, fee certo allora, 
Che amante in vita, amato in morte.'* 



Tasso 



The dead ! the much-loved dead ! 

Who doth not yearn to know 
The secret of their dwelling-place, 

And to what land they go ? 
What heart but asks, with ceaseless tone, 
For some sure knowledge of its own ? 

We cannot blot them out 

From memory's written page ; 



; 



THE MUCH-LOVED DEAD. 61 

"We cannot count them strangers ; but, 

As birds in prison cage, 
We beat against the iron bar 
That keeps us from these friends afar. 

Oblivion may not hang 

Its curtain o'er their grave ; 
There is no water we can sip, 

Like Lethe's lulling wave. 
But fond affection's moaning wail 
Breaks from us like the autumn gale. 

Grief cannot win them back ; 

And yet, with frequent tear, 
We question of their hidden lot, 

And list, with throbbing ear, 
For some low answer that may roll 
Through the hushed temple of the soul. 

We love them — love them yet ! 

But is our love returned ? 
Is memory's hearth now cold and dark 

Where once the heart-fire burned ? 
Nor do the laborers now gone home 

Look for the wearv ones to come ? 

«/ 

We wrong them by the thought. 

Affections cannot die : 
Man is still man, where'er he goes — 

And 0, how strong the tie 
Which links us, as with fetters fast, 
Unto the future and the past ! ' 
6 



62 THE MUCH-LOVED DEAD. 

Death would be dark indeed, 
If, with this mortal shroud, 

We threw off all the sympathies 
That in our being crowd, 

And entered on the spirit land 

A stranger, 'mid a stranger band. 

Far pleasanter to think 

That each familiar face 
Now gazes on us, as of old, 

From its mysterious place, 
With love that neither death nor change 
Hath power to sever or estrange. 

0, who will dare to say, 

" This is an idle dream " ? 
Who, that hath given one captive dove 

To soar by its own stream, 
But fancies that its breathings low 
Float round them wheresoever they go ? 

Mother ! couldst thou endure 

To think thyself forgot 
By her, who was thy life, thy air, 

The sunbeam of thy lot ? 
Wouldst thou not live in doubt and fear, 
If all thy bright hopes perished here ? 

And brother ! sister ! child ! 

Ye all have loved the light 
Of many a dearly-cherished one, 

Now taken from your sight ; 



THE MUCH-LOVED DEAD. 63 

And can ye deem that, when ye meet, 
Hearts will not hold communion sweet ? 

Alas ! if it be so, 

That in the burial urn 
The soul must garner up the love 

That once did in it burn — 
Better to know not of the worth 
Of true affection on this earth ; 

Better to live alone, 

Unblessing and unblest, 
Than thus to meet and mingle thought — 

Than from the immortal breast 
Shut out the memory of the past, 
Like daybeams from a forest vast. 

0, no ; it cannot be ! 

Ye, the long lost of years, 
'Mid all the changes of this life, 

Its thousand joys and fears, 
We love to think that round ye move, 
Making an atmosphere of love. 

Ye are not dead to us ; 

But as bright stars unseen, 
We hold that ye are ever near, 

Though death intrudes between, 
Like some thin cloud, that veils from 

sight 
The countless spangles of the night. 



64 DAYS OF TRIBULATION. 

Your influence is still felt 

In many a varied hour ; 
The dewy morn brings thoughts of you ; 

Ye give the twilight power ; 
And when the Sabbath sunshine rests 
On your white tombs, ye fill our breasts. 

No apathy hath struck 

Its ice bolt through our hearts ; 

Yours are among our household names ; 
Your memory ne'er departs ; 

And far, far sweeter are the flowers 

Ye planted in our favored bowers. 

" When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee ; and 
through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee : when thou walkest 
through the fire, thou shalt not be burned ; neither shall the flame kin- 
dle upon thee." — Isaiah xliii. 



DAYS OF TEIBULATION. 

Krummacher. 

Even the days of tribulation have their sweet and 
pleasing intervals, which they bring disguised under 
the gloomy mantle of sorrow, whilst other days pre- 
sent them to us openly and in festive attire ; and al- 
though such seasons cause distress, yet they are like 
vernal storms, which open the springs and cause them 



THE spirit's land. 65 

to flow. They are the days in which the spices of 
the divine promises yield their perfume ; and when 
a resurrection breath pervades the graves of the 
prophets of God, then these ancient and hoary com- 
forters express themselves audibly to us, and their feet 
are beautiful upon the mountains. A number of pas- 
sages, which in brighter days were either unheeded or 
unappreciated, burn now in our hemisphere, as blissful 
and wondrous luminaries. Openings and peaceful 
retreats are discovered in the temple of the Scriptures, 
of which we had previously no idea. The spirit cele- 
brates blissful and paradisiacal festivities ; and often 
while the soul is lying in profound sorrow, or the flesh 
writhing in the glowing crucible, the mind rejoices 
that the refiner is near. 



THE SPIRIT'S LAND. 

Author of Selwin. 

0, beauteous are the forms that stand 
Beyond death's dusky wave, 

And beckon to the spirit's land, 
Across the narrow grave ! 

No damp is on the freed one's brow, 

No dimness in his eye ; 
The dews of heaven refresh him now, 

The fount of light is nigh. 
6* 



66 the spirit's land. 

The parent souls that o'er our bed 
Oft poured the midnight prayer, 

Now wonder where their cares are fled, 
And calmly wait us there. 

The dearer still — the close intwined 
With bands of roseate hue ; 

We thought them fair ; but now we find 
'Twas but their shade we knew. 

'Tis sweet, when o'er the earth unfurled 
Spring's verdant banners wave, 

To think how fair yon upper world, 
Which knows no wintry grave. 

'Tis sweet, when tempests earth deform, 
And whirlwinds sweep the sky, 

To know a haven from the storm 
When worlds themselves must die ; 

To know that they in safety rest, 
The tranquil barks of those 

Who, soaring on life's billowy crest, 
Attained to heaven's repose ; 

To know that brethren fondly wait 

Our mansion to prepare ; 
That death but opes that mansion's gate, 

And lo ! our souls are there ! 



A DEATH BED. — DEPARTED FRIENDS. 67 



A DEATH BED. 

J. Aldrich. 

Her sufferings ended with the day ; 

Yet lived she at its close, 
And breathed the long, long night away, 

In statue-like repose. 

But when the sun, in all his state, 

Illumed the eastern skies, 
She passed through Glory's morning gate, 

And walked in paradise ! 



DEPARTED FRIENDS. 

Rev. M. Henry. 

Our friends who have left us — where are they? 
Not lost, not perished. We are sure that to them, 
to whom to live it was Christ, to die will be gain. 
Where are they? They are where they are perpet- 
ually and perfectly blessed in the immediate vision 
and enjoyment of God, within the veil ; infinitely 
more happy where they are than where they were. 



68 THE DEPARTED. 

Where are they ? Why, they are in the mansions of light 
and bliss, that are in our Fathers house above, in the 
paradise of God, where they hunger no more, nor thirst 
any more. They are in the best company, employed 
in the best work, and enjoying a complete satisfaction. 
Where are they ? Why, they are where there are no 
complaints ; nothing to interrupt their communion with 
God, or cast a damp upon their spirits. Death has 
done that for them which ordinances could not do; 
has perfectly freed them from that body of sin and 
death which was here their constant burden, and hath 
set them forever out of the reach of temptation. 
The spirits of the just are there made perfect, beyond 
the perfection of Adam in innocency, for they are 
immutably confirmed in it. Where are they? Why, 
they are where they would be — in their centre, in 
their element. They are where they longed to be — in 
that blessed state, towards which, while they were 
here, they were still reaching forth and pressing 
forward. 



THE DEPARTED. 

Park Benjamin. 

The departed ! the departed ! 

They visit us in dreams, 
And they glide above our memories 

Like shadows over streams ; 



THE DEPARTED. 69 

But where the cheerful lights of home 

In constant lustre burn, 
The departed, the departed 

Can never more return ! 

The good, the brave, the beautiful, 

How dreamless is their sleep, 
Where rolls the dirge-like music 

Of the ever-tossing deep ! 
Or where the surging night winds 

Pale winter's robes have spread 
Above the narrow palaces, 

In the cities of the dead ! 

I look around, and feel the awe 

Of one who walks alone 
Among the wrecks of former days, 

In mournful ruin strewn ; 
I start to hear the stirring sounds 

Among the cypress trees, 
For the voice of the departed 

Is borne upon the breeze. 

That solemn voice ! it mingles with 

Each free and careless strain ; 
I scarce can think earth's minstrelsy 

Will cheer my heart again. 
The melody of summer waves, 

The thrilling notes of birds, 
Can never be so dear to me 

As their remembered words. 



70 MEEKNESS UNDER THE CHASTENING ROD. 

I sometimes dream their pleasant smiles 

Still on me sweetly fall, 
Their tones of love I faintly hear 

My name in sadness call. 
I know that they are happy, 

With their angel plumage on ; 
But my heart is very desolate 

To think that they are gone. 



MEEKNESS UNDER THE CHASTENING ROD. 

Archbishop Leighton. 

In private, personal correctings, let us learn to be- 
have ourselves meekly and humbly, as the children 
of so great and good a Father ; whatsoever he in- 
flicts, not to murmur, nor entertain a fretful thought 
of it. Besides the undutifulness and unseemliness of 
it, how vain is it ! What gain we by struggling, and 
casting up our hand to cast off the rod, but the more 
lashes ? Our only way is to kneel and fold under his 
hands, and kiss his rod, and, even while he is smiting 
us, to be blessing him, sending up confessions of his 
righteousness, and goodness, and faithfulness, only 
entreating for the turning away of his wrath, though 
it should be with the continuing of our affliction. 
That is here the style of the prophet's prayer — Cor- 
rect me, Lord, but not in anger. And according to 
this suit, even where troubles are chastisements for 



ON THE DEATH OF EDWARD PAYSON, D. D. 71 



sin, yet a child of God may find much sweetness, read- 
ing much of God's love in so dealing with him, in not 
suffering him to grow wanton and forget him, as, in 
much ease, even his own children sometimes do. And 
as they may find much of God's love to them in sharp 
corrections, they may raise and act much of their love 
to him in often-repeated resignments and submissions 
of themselves, and ready consenting to, yea, rejoicing 
in, his good pleasure, even in those things which to 
their flesh and sense are most unpleasant. 



ON THE DEATH OF EDWARD PAYSON, D. D, 

N. P. Willis. 

A servant of the living God* is dead ! 
His errand hath been well and early done, 
And early hath he gone to his reward. 
He shall come no more forth, but to his sleep 
Hath silently lain down, and so shall rest. 

"Would you bewail our brother ? He hath gone 
To Abraham's bosom. He shall no more thirst, 
Nor hunger, but forever in the eye, 
Holy and meek, of Jesus, he may look, 
Unchided, and untempted, and unstained. 
Would ye bewail our brother ? He hath gone 
To sit down with the prophets by the clear 
And crystal waters ; he hath gone to list 



72 ON THE DEATH OF EDWARD PAYSON, D. D. 

Isaiah's harp and David's, and to walk 

With Enoch, and Elijah, and the host 

Of the just men made perfect. He shall bow 

At Gabriel's hallelujah, and unfold 

The scroll of the Apocalypse with John, 

And talk of Christ with Mary, and go back 

To the last supper, and the garden prayer 

With the beloved disciple. He shall hear 

The story of the Incarnation told 

By Simeon, and the Triune mystery 

Burning upon the fervent lips of Paul. 

He shall have wings of glory, and shall soar 

To the remoter firmaments, and read 

The order and the harmony of stars ; 

And, in the might of knowledge, he shall bow 

In the deep pauses of archangel harps, 

And, humble as the seraphim, shall cry, 

Who, by his searching, finds thee out, God ? 

There shall he meet his children who have gone 
Before him ; and as other years roll on, 
And his loved flock go up to him, his hand 
Again shall lead them gently to the Lamb, 
And bring them to the living waters there. 

Is it so good to die ? and shall we mourn 
That he is taken early to his rest ? 
Tell me, — mourner for the man of God, — 
Shall we bewail our brother — that he died ? 



"As Christ's body, when it was in the grave, did there rest in hope, so 
shall the bodies of the saints, when they lay them down in the dust : * My 



THE TOMB NOT FEARFUL TO THE CHRISTIAN. 73 



flesh, also, shall rest in hope,' saith Christ. (Ps. xvi. 9.) In like manner 
the saints commit their bodies to the dust in hope : * The righteous hath 
hope in his death.' (Prov. xiv. 32.) And as Christ's hope was not a vain 
hope, so neither shall their hope be vain." — Flavel. 



THE TOMB NOT FEARFUL TO THE CHRISTIAN. 

Hervey. 

As the roots, even of our choicest flowers, when 
deposited in the ground, are rude and ungraceful, 
but when they spring up into blooming life are most 
elegant and splendid, so the flesh of a saint, when 
committed to the dust, alas ! what is it ? A heap of 
corruption, a mass of putrefying clay. But when it 
obeys the great archangel's call, and starts into a new 
existence, what an astonishing change ensues ! What 
a most ennobling improvement takes place! That 
which is sown in weakness was raised in all the 
vivacity of power. That which was sown in deformity 
is raised in the bloom of celestial beauty. Exalted, 
refined, and glorified, it will shine " as the brightness 
of the firmament," when it darts the inimitable blue 
through the fleeces — the snowy fleeces — of some 
cleaving cloud. Fear not, then, thou faithful Chris- 
tian ; fear not, at the appointed time, to descend into 
the tomb. The soul thou mayst trust with thy om- 
nipotent Redeemer, who is Lord of the unseen world, 
" who has the keys of hell and of death." Most safely 
7 



74 FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. 

mayst thou trust thy better part in those beneficent 
hands, which were pierced with nails, and fastened to 
the ignominious tree, for thy salvation. With regard 
to thy earthly tabernacle, be not dismayed. It is taken 
down only to be rebuilt upon a diviner plan, and in a 
more heavenly form. If it retires into the shadow of 
death, and lies immured in the gloom of the grave, 
it is only to return from a short confinement to endless 
liberty. If it falls into dissolution, it is in order to 
rise more illustrious from its ruins, and wear an infi- 
nitely brighter face of perfection and of glory. 



FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. 

Longfellow. 

When the hours of day are numbered, 
And the voices of the night 

Wake the better soul, that slumbered, 
To a holy, calm delight ; 

Ere the evening lamps are lighted, 
And, like phantoms grim and tall, 

Shadows from the fitful firelight 
Dance upon the parlor wall ; 

Then the forms of the departed 
Enter at the open door ; 



FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. 75 

The beloved, the true-hearted, 
Come to visit me once more. 

He, the young and strong, who cherished 

Noble longings for the strife, 
By the roadside fell and perished, 

Weary with the march of life. 

They, the holy ones and weakly, 

Who the cross of suffering bore, 
Folded their pale hands so meekly, 

Spake with us on earth no more. 

And with them the being beauteous, 

Who unto my youth was given, 
More than all things else, to love me, 

And is now a saint in heaven. 

With a slow and noiseless footstep 

Comes that messenger divine, 
Takes the vacant chair beside me, 

Lays her gentle hand in mine. 

And she sits and gazes at me 

With those deep and tender eyes, 

Like the stars so still and saint-like, 
Looking downward from the skies. 

Uttered not, yet comprehended, 

Is the spirit's voiceless prayer, 
Soft rebukes, in blessings ended, 

Breathing from her lips of air. 



76 TO A BEREAVED SISTER. 

0, though oft depressed and lonely, 
All my fears are laid aside, 

If I but remember only 

Such as these have lived and died, 



TO A BEREAVED SISTER. 

S. Wells Williams. 

If it be not all of life to Jive here, and this life be 
rather a night than a life, as Paul calls it, then is your 
brother alive rather than dead. He has gone through 
this night, and now sees the day, the daystar, the sun, 
the temple, and holy city, which needeth no sun or 
moon — and we should rejoice. He has burst those 
goodly walls in which he was so stoutly ensconced, 
and is now at large in the plains and pastures, where 
the good Shepherd, leading his flock beside the still 
waters, gives them such aliment as we could not 
stomach ; teaches them such mysteries as we could 
not fathom ; rejoices them with such entertainments 
as would make us heady, and rewards them with him- 
self. I was greatly refreshed with your account of 
his sickness and death ; for such testimonials cheer us 
onward through the days appointed to us. That you 

should mourn the departure of G is proper ; for 

the sweet intercourse you had can be had no more ; 
the mutual counsel and assistance can be no longer 
afforded ; and all those grateful favors, which bind us 



TO MY BROTHER IN HEAVEN. 77 

so close to each other, are ended. Death is the worse 
in such cases for the living ; and our loss seems the 
greater for the vividness with which memory retouches 
the incidents, places, and scenes connected with the 
departed. Thus the recital you have given of your 
brother's sickness has tinted the remembrance of the 

past months, spent so sunnily in your house in , 

with a brighter halo than before, because now I can 
hope, and do hope, to pass more joyous ones with him 
and you where sins and doubts cannot come. 



TO MY BROTHER IN HEAVEN. 

H. W. Rockwell. 

I know thou art gone to the land of the blest ; 

Thou art gone to heaven's beautiful shore, 
Where the heavy laden of earth are at rest, 

And the wicked shall trouble no more. 
Thou art gone to a land more lovely than this, 

By the footsteps of angel bands trod, 
And the trials of life thou'st exchanged for the 
bliss 

That abides in the presence of God. 

We have wept o'er the sod that grows green on thy 
tomb, 
Where Morning, with eyes full of tears, 



78 TO MY BROTHER IN HEAVEN. 

Weeps her dew in the wild flowers, whose beautiful 
bloom 

Seems most like the bloom of thy years. 
A few days of sunshine, and then comes the blast 

That fills the sad woods with its moan — 
The bloom from the cheek and the blossom is past, 

And the spirit forever is flown. 

Thou art happy now. We would not call thee back 

From thy home on that beautiful shore, 
But patiently tread life's wearisome track, 

Until life and its sorrows are o'er. 
Then, this painful dream ended, we'll meet thee at 
last 

In the beautiful land of the blest, 
And forget all the trials and woes of the past 

In the pleasures of infinite rest. 

The soft winds shall sigh o'er thy dreamless sleep, 

And the chirp of the merry bird, 
At the shut of day, 'mid the twilight deep, 

By the place of thy rest shall be heard. 
Sweet odors that breathe from yon forests of pine, 

Shall waft in the breeze from the glen ; 
But the love that once woke in that bosom of thine 

Shall ne'er be awakened again ! 

We could not call thee back ! no ; soft be thy 
sleep, 

And green be the turf o'er thy head ! 
'Twere better by far for the living to weep, 

Than to mourn o'er the lot of the dead. 



BEREAVEMENT. 79 

Thou art happy and blest 'mid that holy band 
That look from heaven's beautiful shore. 

Bear us, ye angels, to that sweet land, 
When life and its sorrows are o'er. 



"Christianity teaches us to moderate our passions; to temper our 
affections towards all things below ; to be thankful for the possession, 
and patient under loss, whenever He who gave shall see fit to take away." 
— Sir Wm. Temple. 



BEREAVEMENT. 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 

When some beloveds, 'neath whose eyelids lay 
The sweet light of my childhood, one by one 
Did leave me dark before the natural sun, 

And I astonied fell, and could not pray, 

A thought within me to myself did say, 
" Is God less God that thou art mortal-sad ? 
Rise, worship, bless him ! in this sackcloth clad 

As in that purple ! " — But I answer, Nay ! 
What child his filial heart in words conveys, 

If him for very good his father choose 

To smite ? What can he, but, with sobbing breath, 
Embrace th ? unwilling hand which chasteneth ? — 

And my dear Father, thinking fit to bruise, 
Discerns in silent tears both prayer and praise. 

" If you be afflicted, join prayer with your correction, and beg by it 
that God would join his spirit with it. Seek this in earnest, else you 
shall be not a whit the better, but shall still endure the smart, and not 



80 THE EARLY DEAD. 

reap the fruit thereof. Rejoice in Him who fails not, who alters not. He 
is still the same in himself, and to the sense of the^ soul that is knit to 
him, is then sweetest when the world is bitterest. When other comforts 
are withdrawn, the loss of them brings this great gain, so much the more 
of God and his love imparted, to make all up. They that ever found 
this could almost wish for things that others are afraid of. If we knew 
how to improve them, his sharpest visits would be his sweetest: thou 
wouldst be glad to catch a kiss of his hand while he is beating thee, or 
pulling away something from thee that thou lovest, and bless him while 
he is doing so." — Leighton. 



THE EAKLY DEAD. 

Willis Gaylord Clark. 

If it be sad to mark the bowed with age 
Sink in the halls of the remorseless tomb, 

Closing the changes of life's pilgrimage 
In the still darkness of its mouldering gloom, 

O, what a shadow o'er the heart is flung, 

When peals the requiem of the loved and young ! 

They to whose bosoms, like the dawn of spring 
To the unfolding bud and scented rose, 

Comes the pure freshness age can never bring, 
And fills the spirit with a rich repose, — 

How shall we lay them in their final rest ? 

How pile the clods upon their wasting breast ? 

Life openeth brightly to their ardent gaze ; 

A glorious pomp sits on the gorgeous sky ; 
O'er the broad world Hope's smile incessant plays, 

And scenes of beauty win th' enchanted eye : 



IMPROVEMENT OP AFFLICTION. 81 

How sad to break the vision, and to fold 
Each lifeless form in earth's embracing mould ! 

Yet this is life ! — to mark, from day to day, 
Youth, in the freshness of its morning prime, 

Pass like the anthem of a breeze away, 

Sinking in waves of death ere chilled by time, 

Ere yet dark years on the warm cheek had shed 

Autumnal mildew o'er the rose-like red. 

And yet what mourner, though the pensive eye 
Be dimly thoughtful in its burning tears, 

But should with rapture gaze upon the sky, 

Through whose far depths the spirit's wing careers ? 

Tfiere gleams eternal o'er their ways are flung, 

Who fade from earth while yet their years are young. 



IMPROVEMENT OP AFFLICTION. 

Rev. Robert Hall. 

We should be more anxious that our afflictions 
should benefit us than that they should be speedily 
removed from us ; for they are intended to remove a far 
greater evil than any which they can occasion. It is, 
in reality, a most sparing and economical method 
which the divine Being employs, when he uses these, 
I our light afflictions," in order to remove our sins ; 
for sin is the great disease of our nature, which must 



82 my mother's grave. 

be removed if we are to be made happy. It is far 
better that this disease should be expelled by the use 
of means, however painful, then that, by the with- 
holding of those means, it should be increased, inflamed, 
and cause our destruction. We must be partakers of 
his holiness, that we may be of his happiness ; and if 
it is true that "tribulation worketh patience, and 
patience experience, and experience hope, and hope 
maketh not ashamed," then are our afflictions, duly 
received, to be numbered among our greatest blessings. 
This, then, is the light in which you should accustom 
yourselves to view your afflictions — as commissioned 
by God ; as merited by your sins ; as the effect of per- 
fect parental care ; and with an earnest desire to de- 
rive the benefit designed in your sanctification. 






MY MOTHEE'S GKAVE. 

James Aldrich. 

In beauty lingers on the hills 

The death smile of the dying day ; 
And twilight in my heart instils 

The softness of its rosy ray. 
I watch the river's peaceful flow, 

Here, standing by my mother's grave, 
And feel my dreams of glory go 

Like weeds upon its sluggish wave. 



MY MOTHER'S GRAVE. 83 

God gives us ministers of love, 

Which we regard not, being near : 
Death takes them from us ; then we feel 

That angels have been with us here. 
As mother, sister, friend, or wife, 

They guide us, cheer us, soothe our pain, 
And when the grave has closed between 

Our hearts and theirs, we love — in vain. 

Would, Mother, thou couldst hear me tell 

How oft, amid my brief career, 
For sins and follies loved too well, 

Hath fallen the free repentant tear ; 
And in the waywardness of youth, 

How better thoughts have given to me 
Contempt for error, love for truth, 

'Mid sweet remembrances of thee. 

The harvest of my youth is done, 

And manhood, come with all its cares, 
Finds, garnered up within my heart, 

For every flower a thousand tares. 
Dear Mother, couldst thou know my thoughts, 

Whilst bending o'er this holy shrine, 
The depth of feeling in my breast, 

Thou wouldst not blush to call me thine. 



84 FRIEND AFTER FRIEND DEPARTS, 



FRIEND AFTER FRIEND DEPARTS, 

Montgomery. 

Friend after friend departs ; 

Who hath not lost a friend ? 
There is no union here of hearts 

That finds not here an end : 
Were this frail world our only rest, 
Living or dying, none were blest. 

Beyond the flight of time, 

Beyond this vale of death, 
There surely is some blessed clime 

Where life is not a breath, 
Nor life's affections transient fire, 
Whose sparks fly upward to expire. 

There is a world above, 

Where parting is unknown — 

A whole eternity of love, 
Formed for the good alone ; 

And faith beholds the dying here 

Translated to that happier sphere. 

Thus star by star declines, 
Till all are passed away, — 



BENEFIT OF AFFLICTION. 85 

As morning high and higher shines 

To pure and perfect day : 
Nor sink those stars in empty night ; 
They hide themselves in heaven's own light. 



BENEFIT OF AFFLICTION. 

Baxter. 

Afflictions are God's most effectual means to keep 

us from losing our way to our heavenly rest. Without 

this hedge of thorns on the right hand and left, we 

should hardly keep the way to heaven. If there be 

but one gap open, how ready are we to find it, and 

! turn out at it ! When we grow wanton, or worldly, 

or proud, how much doth sickness, or other affliction, 

reduce us ! Every Christian, as well as Luther, may 

call affliction one of the best schoolmasters, and, with 

| David, may say, " Before I was afflicted, I went astray ; 

i but now have I kept thy word. 77 Many thousand 

I recovered sinners may cry, " healthful sickness ! O 

I comfortable sorrows ! gainful losses ! enriching 

poverty ! blessed day that ever I was afflicted ! 

' Not only the "green pastures and still waters, but 

J the rod and staff, they comfort us. 77 Though the 

| Word and Spirit do the main work, yet suffering so 

! unbolts the door of the heart, that the word hath 

i easier entrance. ... It were well if mere love 

would prevail with us, and that we were rather drawn 

8 



86 CONSOLATION SOUGHT AND FOUND. 

to heaven than driven. But, seeing our hearts are so 
bad that mercy will not do it, it is better to be put on 
with the sharpest scourge than loiter like the foolish 
virgins till the door is shut. 0, what a difference is 
there betwixt our prayers in health and in sickness ! 
betwixt our repentings in prosperity and adversity! 
Alas ! if we did not sometimes feel the spur, what a ! 
slow pace would most of us hold toward heaven ! 
Since our vile natures require it, why should we be 
unwilling that God should do us good by sharp 
means ? Judge, Christian, whether thou dost not go 
more watchfully and speedily in the way to heaven 
in thy sufferings than in thy more pleasant and pros- 
perous state. 



CONSOLATION SOUGHT AND FOUND, 

J. Bo WRING. 

When the clouds of desolation 

Gather o'er my naked head, 
And my spirit's agitation 

Knows not where to turn or tread ; 
When life's gathering storms compel me 

To submit to wants and woes, — 
Who shall teach me, who shall tell me, 

Where my heart may find repose ? 

To the stars I fain would reach me ; 
There the God of light must dwell ; 



CONSOLATION SOUGHT AND FOUND. 87 

Sacred teachers, will ye teach me, 
Blessed instructors, will ye tell, 

How my voice may reach that portal 
Where the seraphs crowd in throngs ? 

How the lispings of a mortal 

May be heard 7 midst angel songs ? 

God and Father, thou didst give me 

Sorrow for my portion here ; 
But thy mercy will not leave me 

Helpless, struggling with despair ; 
For to thee, when sad and lonely, 

Unto thee, alone, I turn ; 
And to thee, my Father, only 

Look for comfort when I mourn ; — 

Nor in vain — for light is breaking 

'Midst the sorrows, 7 midst the storms ; 
And methinks I see awaking 

Heavenly hopes and angel forms ; 
And my spirit waxes stronger, 

And my trembling heart is still, 
And my bosom doubts no longer 

Thine inexplicable will. 

" It is a great truth, wonderful as it is undeniable, that aU our happi- 
ness — temporal, spiritual, and eternal — consists in one thing, namely, 
; in resigning ourselves to God, and in leaving ourselves with him, to do 
with us and in us just as he pleases. When we arrive at this state of 
I entire and unrestricted dependence on God's spirit and providences, we 
shall then fully realize that what we experience is just what we need, and 
j that, if God is truly good, he could not do otherwise than he does. AU 
that is wanting is, to leave ourselves faithfully in God's hands, submit- 
i ting always and fully to all his operations, whether painful or other- 
wise." — Madame Guyon. 



88 I SEE THEE STILL. 



I SEE THEE STILL. 

Charles Speague. 

I see thee still : 
Kemembrance, faithful to her trust, 
Calls thee in beauty from the dust • 
Thou comest in the morning light, 
Thou'rt with me through the gloomy night ; 
In dreams I meet thee as of old : 
Then thy soft arms my neck infold, 
And thy sweet voice is in my ear. 
In every scene to memory dear 

I see thee still. 

I see thee still 
In every hallowed token round : 
This little ring thy finger bound ; 
This lock of hair thy forehead shaded ; 
This silken chain by thee was braided ; 
These flowers, all withered now, like thee, 
Sweet sister, thou didst cull for me ; 
This book was thine — here didst thou read ; 
This picture — ah, yes, here, indeed, 

I see thee still. 

I see thee still : 
Here was thy summer noon's retreat ; 
Here was thy favorite fireside seat ; 



: 



WORDS TO A MOURNING HUSBAND. 89 

This was thy chamber — here, each day, 
I sat and watched thy sad decay ; 
Here, on this bed, thou last didst lie ; 
Here, on this pillow, thou didst die. 
Dark hour ! once more its woes unfold — 
As then I saw thee, pale and cold, 
I see thee still. 

I see thee still : 
Thou art not in the grave confined — 
Death cannot chain the immortal mind ; 
Let earth close o'er its sacred trust, 
But goodness dies not in the dust. 
Thee, my sister ! 'tis not thee 
Beneath the coffin's lid I see ; 
Thou to a fairer land art gone ; — 
There, let me hope, my journey done, 

To see thee still. 



WORDS TO A MOURNING HUSBAND. 

Eey. Robert Hall. 

You have learned, my dear friend, the terms on 
which all earthly unions are formed ; the ties on 
earth are not perpetual, and must be dissolved ; and 
every enjoyment but that which is spiritual, every 
life but that which is " hid with Christ in God," is of 
short duration. Nothing here is given with an ulti- 
8* 



90 WORDS TO A MOURNING HUSBAND. 

mate view to enjoyment, but for the purpose of trial, 
to prove us, and " to know what is in our hearts ; and 
if we are upright before God, to do us good in the 
latter end." You had, no doubt, often anticipated 
such an event as the inevitable removal of one from 
the other ; and I hope neither of you were wanting 
in making a due improvement of the solemn reflection, 
and laying up cordial for such an hour. Still I am 
well aware that the actual entrance of death into the 
domestic circle is unutterably solemn, and places 
things in a different light from what we ever saw 
them in before. . . . This heavy blow is undoubt- 
edly intended to quicken your preparation for a future 
world. It loudly says to you, and to all, " Be ye also 
ready ; for in such an hour as ye think not, the Son 
of man cometh." God grant it may be eminently 
sanctified by weaning you more completely from this 
world, and " setting your affections" more entirely 
and habitually " on things that are above." You will 
then, in the midst of that deep regret such a loss has 
necessarily inspired, have cause to bless God that you 
were afflicted. 



" Many are the afflictions of the righteous : but the Lord delivereth 
him out of them all." — Psalm xxxiv. 



SHE SLEEPS THAT STILL AND PLACID SLEEP. 91 



SHE SLEEPS THAT STILL AND PLACID SLEEP. 



Hervey 



She sleeps that still and placid sleep, 
For which the weary pant in vain ; 

And, where the dews of evening weep, 
I may not weep again. 

O, never more upon her grave 

Shall I behold the wild flower wave ! 

They laid her where the sun and moon 
Look on her tomb with loving eye, 

And I have heard the breeze of June 
Sweep o'er it, like a sigh. 

And the wild river's wailing song 

Grow dirge-like, as it stole along. 

And I have dreamed, in many dreams, 
Of her who was a dream to me ; 

And talked to her, by summer streams, 
In crowds, and on the sea, 

Till in my soul she grew enshrined, 

A young Egeria of the mind ! 

'Tis years ago — and other eyes 
Have flung their beauty o ? er my youth ; 



92 SHE SLEEPS THAT STILL AND PLACID SLEEP. 

And I have lmng on other sighs, 

And sounds that seemed like truth ; 
And loved the music which they gave, 
Like that which perished in the grave. 

And I have left the cold and dead, 
To mingle with the living cold ; 

There is a weight around my head ; 
My heart is growing old. 

for a refuge and a home 

"With thee, dead Ellen, in thy tomb ! 

Age sits upon my breast and brain, 
My spirit fades before its time ; 

But they are all thine own again, 
Lost partner of their prime. 

And thou art dearer in thy shroud 
. Than all the false and living crowd. 

Eise, gentle vision of the hours, 

Which go like birds that come not back, 

And fling thy pale and funeral flowers 
On Memory's wasted track ! 

for the wings that made thee blest, 

To " flee away, and be at rest." 



CHRISTIAN FRIENDS IN A FUTURE WORLD. 93 



KNOWLEDGE OF CHRISTIAN FRIENDS IN A 
FUTURE WORLD. 

Rev. John M. Mason. 

The clay which we commit to the grave under that 
universal sentence, " Dust thou art, and unto dust 
shalt thou return," will be quickened again, and reas- 
sume, even after the slumber of ages, the organization, 
, the lineaments, the expression, of that selfsame human 
being with whom we were conversant upon earth : 
otherwise it were a new creation, and not a resur- 
rection ; and will be reanimated by that selfsame 
spirit which forsook it at death: otherwise it were 
, a different being altogether, and not the one with 
( whom, under that form, we held sweet communion in 
! this life, and walked to the house of God in company. 
j It has, indeed, been questioned whether Christian 
i friends shall know each other in the world of the 
risen. But why not? Did not the disciples know 
the Lord Jesus after his resurrection? Did they not 
know him at the moment of his ascension ? Shall the 
body which he wore upon earth be the only one rec- 
ognized in heaven? If Peter and Paul, if James and 
John, shall not be able to distinguish each other, upon 
what principle shall they be able to distinguish their 
Lord? And why should the body be raised at all, 
if the associations with which its reappearance is con- 
nected are to be broken and lost ? 



94 THE FUTURE LIFE. 



THE FUTURE LIFE. 

"William Cullen Bryant. 

How shall I know thee in the sphere that keeps 
The disembodied spirits of the dead, — 

Where all of thee that time could wither sleeps 
And perishes among the dust we tread ? 

For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain 
If there I meet thy gentle presence not, 

Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again 
In thy serenest eyes the tender thought. 

Will not thy own meek heart demand me there ? 

That heart whose fondest throbs to me were given? 
My name, on earth, was ever in thy prayer ; 

Shall it be banished from thy tongue in heaven ? 

In meadows fanned by heaven's life-breathing wind, 
In the resplendence of that glorious sphere, 

And larger movements of th ? unfettered mind, 
Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here ? 

The love that lived through all the stormy past, 
And meekly with my harsher nature bore, 

And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last, 
Shall it expire with life, and be no more ? 



I KNEW THAT WE MUST PART. 95 

A happier lot than mine, and larger light, 

Await thee there ; for thou hast bowed thy will 

In cheerful homage to the rule of right, 
And lovest all, and renderest good for ill. 

For me the sordid cares in which I dwell 

Shrink and consume the heart, as heat the scroll ; 

And wrath hath left its scar — that fire of hell 
Has left its frightful scar upon my soul. 

Yet, though thou wear'st the glory of the sky, 
Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name ? — 

The same fair, thoughtful brow, and gentle eye, 
Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same ? 

Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home, 
The wisdom that I learned so ill in this ? — 

The wisdom which is love — till I become 
Thy fit companion in that land of bliss ? 



I KNEW THAT WE MUST PART. 

Charles Sprague. 

I knew that we must part — day after day, 
I saw the dread destroyer win his way ; 
That hollow cough first rang the fatal knell, 
As on my ear its prophet-warning fell ; 



96 I KNEW THAT WE MUST PART. 

Feeble and slow thy once light footstep grew, 

Thy wasting cheek put on death's pallid hue, 

Thy thin, hot hand to mine more weakly clung, 

Each sweet " Good night " fell fainter from thy tongue ; 

I knew that we must part — no power could save 

Thy quiet goodness from an early grave ; 

Those eyes so dull, though kind each glance they cast, 

Looking a sister's fondness to the last ; 

Thy lips so pale, that gently pressed my cheek, 

Thy voice — alas ! thou couldst but try to speak ; — 

All told thy doom ; I felt it at my heart ; 

The shaft had struck — I knew that we must part. 

And we have parted, sister — thou art gone ! 
Gone in thine innocence, meek, suffering one. 
Thy weary spirit breathed itself to sleep 
So peacefully, it seemed a sin to weep, 
In those fond watchers who around thee stood, 
And felt, e'en then, that God, e'en then, was good. 
Like stars that struggle through the clouds of night, 
Thine eyes one moment caught a glorious light, 
As if to thee, in that dread hour, 'twere given 
To know on earth what faith believes of heaven ; 
Then like tired breezes didst thou sink to rest, 
Nor one, one pang the awful change confessed : 
Death stole in softness o'er that lovelv face, 
And touched each feature with a new-born grace ; 
On cheek and brow unearthly beauty lay, 
And told that life's poor cares had passed away ; 
In my last hour be Heaven so kind to me ! 
I ask no more than this — to die like thee. 

But we have parted, sister — thou art dead ! 
On its last resting-place I laid thy head, 



I KNEW THAT WE MUST PART. 97 

Then by thy coffin side knelt down, and took 

A brother's farewell kiss and farewell look ; 

Those marble lips no kindred kiss returned ; 

From those veiled orbs no glance responsive burned : 

Ah, then I felt that thou hadst passed away, 

That the sweet face I gazed on was but clay ; 

And then came Memory, with her busy throng 

Of tender images, forgotten long ; 

Years hurried back, and as they swiftly rolled, 

I saw thee, heard thee, as in days of old : 

Sad and more sad each sacred feeling grew ; 

Manhood was moved, and Sorrow claimed her due ; 

, Thick, thick and fast the burning teardrops started ; 

1 I turned away — and felt that we had parted. — 

But not forever — in the silent tomb, 
Where thou art laid, thy kindred shall find room ; 
A little while, a few short years of pain, 
And one by one well come to thee again ; 
The kind old father shall seek out the place, 
And rest with thee, the youngest of his race ; 
The dear, dear mother, bent with age and grief, 
Shall lay her head by thine, in sweet relief ; 
Sister and brother, and that faithful friend, 
True from the first, and tender to the end, — 
All, all, in His good time, who placed us here, 
To live, to love, to die, and disappear, 
Shall come and make their quiet bed with thee, 
Beneath the shadow of that spreading tree ; 
With thee to sleep through death's long, dreamless 

night, 
With thee rise up and bless the morning light. 
9 



98 SANCTIFIED AFFLICTIONS. 



SANCTIFIED AFFLICTIONS. 

Flavel. 

Sanctified afflictions are prescribed in heaven for 
purifying our corruptions : " By this, therefore, shall 
the iniquity of Jacob be purged ; and this is all the 
fruit to take away his sin." (Is. xxvii. 9.) It is a glass 
to represent the evil of sin and the vanity of the crea- 
ture, to imbitter the world, and draw thy affections 
from it. Fall in, therefore, with the gracious design 
of God ; connect every affliction with prayer that 
God would follow it with his blessing. God kills thy 
comforts from no other design but to kill thy corrup- 
tions ; wants are ordained to kill wantonness, poverty 
is appointed to kill pride, reproaches are permitted 
to destroy ambition. Happy is the man who under- 
stands, approves, and heartily concurs with the design 
of God in afflicting providences. 



ON THE DEATH OF A SISTEE. 99 



ON THE DEATH OP A SISTEE. 

Anonymous. 

Another of God's servants hath put on 
The garment of salvation. Young, and loved, 
And beautiful, as if this world of pain 
"Were not unangelled, she hath dashed aside 
Earth's sweetest draught, and thirsting for the springs 
Of a celestial fountain, hath gone up 
To taste the coolness of the living stream. 

Peace to thee, sister — peace. We weep that thou 
Hast left us thus alone ; our fairest flower 
Faded in spring-time beauty ; our first star 
Gone out at eventide. With thy soft smile, 
And the glad music of thy gentle voice, 
And all the spells with which thou'dst garnered love, 
Thou hast passed from us ; and in grief we tread 
Life's desert pathway onward, sorrowing much 
That thv beguiline; ministry will cheer 
Our weary steps no more. But 0, for thee, 
For thee, our sister, o'er a sinless heart 
Folding a seraph's garment — to thy lip, 
In the first thirst of an immortal thought, 
Lifting an angel's chalice — who can weep ? 

Joy, joy for thee, sweet sister ! Thou wilt feel 
Life's bitterness no more. Thou hast put off 
Earth's heavy raiment, and arrayed in white, 



100 ON THE DEATH OF A SISTER. 

Hast gone to tread in holiness and joy 

The house of many mansions. Joy for thee ! 

The gifted and the mighty of old time 

Shall win thee from thy solitude, and teach 

Thy lip the hallelujah to our God, 

And all the hymns of heaven ; and thou shalt rest 

Under the branches of the tree of life, 

,And bathe thy fingers in the living stream 

Whose waters have no murmur, and shalt win 

A compass and a mastery of mind 

To fathom the deep mysteries of God, 

And thou shalt soar with Gabriel, and tread 

The mighty chambers of the vaulted sky, 

Spanning the universe as with a thought. 

And such shall be thy labor ; but thy depth 

Of blessedness, whose fountain is the light 

Of God's eternal presence, who can tell ? 

Pray for us, sister, — if a spirit's lip 
May breathe a prayer in heaven, — that we, from whom 
Thou'st parted for a season, may so tread 
This veil of sorrow, that when life hath passed, 
We may go up to thee, and claim thy hand, 
To lead us where the living waters flow. 



SORROW NOT. 101 



"SORROW NOT, EVEN AS OTHERS WHICH 
HAVE NO HOPE." — ithess.1v.13. 

Rev. Charles Wesley. 

If death my friend and me divide, 
Thou dost not, Lord, my sorrow chide, 

Nor frown my tears to see ; 
Restrained from passionate excess, 
Thou bidd'st me mourn, in calm distress, 

For them that rest in thee. 

I feel a strong, immortal hope, 
Which bears my mournful spirit up 

Beneath its mountain load : 
Redeemed from death, and grief, and pain, 
I soon shall find my friend again, 

Within the arms of God. 

Pass the few fleeting moments more, 
And death the blessing shall restore, 

Which death hath snatched away ; 
For me, thou wilt the summons send, 
And give me back my parted friend, 

In that eternal day. 
9* 



102 FEAE OF DEATH. 



FEAR OF DEATH. 

Jeremy Taylor. 

Death is a thing that is no great matter in itself,, 
if we consider that we die daily, that it meets us in 
every accident, that every creature carries a dart 
along with it, and can kill us. And, therefore, when 
Lysimachus threatened Theodoras to kill him, he told 
him, that was no great matter to do, and he could do 
no more than the cantharides could ; a little fly could 
do as much. 

Of all the evils of the world which are reproached 
with an evil character, death is the most innocent of 
its accusation. For when it is present, it hurts no- 
body ; and when it is absent, it is indeed troublesome, 
but the trouble is owing to our fears, not to the 
affrighting and mistaken object ; and besides this, if it 
were an evil, it is so transient, that it passes like the 
instant or undiscerned portion of the present time ; 
and either it is past, or it is not yet ; for just when it 
is, no man hath reason to complain of so insensible, so 
sudden, so undiscerned a change. If we be afraid of 
death, it is but reasonable to use all spiritual arts to 
take off the apprehension of the evil : but therefore 
we ought to remove our fear, because fear gives to 
death wings, and spurs, and darts. Death hastens to 
a fearful man : if, therefore, you would make death 



FEAR OF DEATH. 103 

harmless and slow, to throw off fear is the way to do 
it ; and prayer is the way to do that. If thou wilt 
be fearless of death, endeavor to be in love with the 
felicities of saints and angels, and be once persuaded 
to believe that there is a condition of living better 
than this ; that there are creatures more noble than 
we ; that above there is a country better than ours ; 
that the inhabitants know more and know better, and 
are in places of rest and desire ; and first learn to 
value it, and then learn to purchase it, and death can- 
not be a formidable thing, which lets us into so much 
joy and so much felicity. " The dead that die in the 
Lord" shall converse with St. Paul, and all the col- 
lege of the apostles, and all the saints and martyrs, 
with all the good men whose memory we preserve in 
honor, with excellent kings and holy bishops, and with 
the great Shepherd and Bishop of our souls, Jesus Christ, 
and with God himself. For " Christ died for us, that, 
whether we wake or sleep, we might live together with 
him." Then we shall be free from lust and envy, from 
fear and rage, from covetousness and sorrow, from 
tears and cowardice ; and these, indeed, properly are 
the only evils that are contrary to felicity and wisdom. 
Then we shall see strange things, and know new propo- 
sitions, and all things in another manner, and to higher 
purposes. 

" Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will 
fear no evil ; for thou art with me ; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." 
— Psalm xxiii. 



104 ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. 



ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. 

Bishop Hebeii. 

Thou art gone to the grave ! but we will not deplore 
thee; 
Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb, 
Thy Savior has passed through its portals before thee, 
And the lamp of his love is thy guide through the 
gloom ! 

Thou art gone to the grave ! we no longer behold thee, 
Nor tread the rough paths of the world by thy side ; 

But the wide arms of Mercy are spread to infold" thee, 
And sinners may die, for the Sinless has died ! 

Thou art gone to the grave ! and, its mansion for- 
saking, 
Perchance thy weak spirit in fear lingered long ; 
But the mild rays of paradise beamed on thy waking, 
And the sound which thou heard'st was the sera- 
phim's song ! 

Thou art gone to the grave ! but we will not deplore 
thee, 

Whose God was thy ransom, thy guardian and guide ; 
He gave thee, he took thee, and he will restore thee, 

And death has no sting, for the Savior has died ! 



IN AFFLICTION DWELL UPON BREVITY OF LIFE. 105 



IN AFFLICTION DWELL UPON THE BREVITY 

OF LIFE. 

* Rev. T. Brooks. 

To silence and quiet your souls under tlie afflicting 
hand of God, dwell much upon the brevity or short- 
ness of man's life. This present life is not life, but a 
motion, a journey towards life. Man's life, saith one, 
is the shadow of smoke, yea, the dream of a shadow. 
Saith another, Man's life is so short, that Austin 
doubted whether to call it a dying life or a living 
death. Thou hast but a day to live, and perhaps thou 
inayst be now in the twelfth hour of that day ; there- 
fore hold out faith and patience, thy troubles and thy 
life will shortly end together ; therefore hold thy 
peace, thy grave is going to be made, thy sun is near 
setting, death begins to call thee off the stage of this 
world, death stands at thy back, thou must shortly sail 
forth upon the ocean of eternity ; though thou hast a 
great deal of work to do, a God to honor, a Christ to 
close with, a soul to save, a race to run, a crown to 
win, a hell to escape, a pardon to beg, a heaven to 
make sure, yet thou hast but a little time to do it in ; 
thou hast one foot in the grave, thou art even going 
ashore on eternity ; and wilt thou not cry out of thy 
afflictions? Wilt thou not mutter and murmur when 
thou art entering upon an unchangeable condition? 



106 DIRGE IN AUTUMN. 

What extreme folly and madness is it for a man to 
mutter and murmur when he is just going out of 
prison, and his bolts and chains are just knocking off ! 
Why, Christian, this is just thy case ; therefore hold 
thy peace ; thy life is but short, therefore thy troubles 
cannot be long ; hold up, and hold out quietly and 
patiently a little longer, (Rom. viii. 18,) and heaven 
shall make amends for all. 



DIRGE IN AUTUMN. 

Willis Gayiord Clark. 

? Tis an autumnal eve — the low winds sighing 

To wet leaves, rustling as they hasten by ; 
The eddying gusts to tossing boughs replying, 

And ebon darkness filling all the sky ; 
The moon, pale mistress, palled in solemn vapor ; 

The rack swift wandering through the void above, 
As I, a mourner by my lonely taper, 

Send back to faded hours the plaint of love. 

Blossoms of peace, once in my pathway springing, 
Where have your brightness and your splendor 
gone ? 

And thou, whose voice to me came sweet as singing, 
What region holds thee, in the vast unknown ? 

What star far brighter than the rest contains thee, 
Beloved, departed — empress of my heart? 



DIRGE IN AUTUMN. 107 

What bond of full beatitude enchains thee 
In realms unveiled by pen or prophet's art ? 

Ah, loved and lost ! in these autumnal hours, 

When fairy colors deck the painted tree, 
When the vast woodlands seem a sea of flowers, 

0, then my soul, exulting, bounds to thee — 
Springs as to clasp thee yet in this existence, 

Yet to behold thee at my lonely side ; 
But the fond vision melts at once to distance, 

And my sad heart gives echo — she has died ! 

Yes ! when the morning of her years was brightest, 

That angel presence into dust went down ; 
While yet with rosy dreams her rest was lightest, 

Death, for the olive, wove the cypress crown ; 
Sleep which no waking knows overcame her bosom, 

Overcame her large, bright, spiritual eyes ; 
Spared in her bower connubial one fair blossom — 

Then bore her spirit to the upper skies. 

There let me meet her, when, life's struggles over, 

The pure in love and thought their faith renew, — • 
Where man's forgiving and redeeming Lover 

Spreads out his paradise to every view. 
Let the dim autumn, with its leaves descending, 

Howl on the winter's verge! — yet spring will 
come : 
So my freed soul, no more 'gainst fate contending, 

With all it loveth shall regain its home ! 



108 THOUGHTS AT THE GRAVE 



THOUGHTS AT THE GRAVE OF BELOVED 

ONES. 

Mrs. Julia Norton. 

Again has Autumn scattered over these precious 
mounds of earth her faded, leafy mantle. Lightly it 
rests upon their unobtrusive elevations, beneath which 
sleep some of earth's richest treasures. 

And are these perishing mementoes all that re- 
main of their deeply-cherished worth? No. The halo 
of glory with which their virtues have encircled their 
memory shall never fade away. Our heavenly Guide 
Book teaches us that "the memory of the just is 
blessed." 

Then be still, my aching heart, and thankfully follow 
life's beaten path until we are permitted to meet again 
— to meet where their beautiful spirits are bathing in 
immortal love and immortal knowledge. They have 
passed through the "chances and changes" of this 
mortal life, and plumed their wings for an everlasting 
flight, where they can calmly review life's stormy sea, 
and contemplate their future blessedness in their eter- 
nal home. They sought the path that leads up to the 
city of God, and thus entered into joy and felicity — 
into an eternity vast and shoreless. They have en- 
tered the swelling stream of bliss, which is mysterious 



OP BELOVED ONES. 109 

and fathomless. Far beyond the troubled waters of 
time their ever-increasing capacity for enjoyment will 
perpetually rise, and fill to the brim their cup of 
felicity. 

Imagination here droops her wearied pinions, yet 
still continues to wander in search of those beloved 
spirits which have soared to the invisible world, un- 
willing to break the chain that binds it to those so 
dearly loved, so fondly cherished. And although the 
wounded heart has passed through the hour when it 
bled at every ruptured tie, — when cares and heavy 
woes pressed long upon its very existence, until nought 
was left but meek submission, — the belief that it again 
will meet and recognize, in a higher and holier state 
of existence, those so dearly loved upon the earth, 
buoys up the heart, and bids it look forward to its 
initiation into the celestial world, where the long- 
incarcerated soul shall be free, and independent of 
the feeble inlets of knowledge by the senses. When 
the veil of mortality shall be riven, the stormy Jordan 
passed, and the world of abiding realities entered, — 
then the world of deceptive and fleeting shadows will 
have forever passed away. 

Sweet is it to hold converse with the pious dead. 
A holy influence emanates from their blissful home, 
and fills the soul with a feeling of sacred and solemn 
awe. The spirit whispers peace, and fills the waiting 
caverns of the soul with the bright hope of again 
meeting those whom we believe to be in the abodes 
of redeemed and happy spirits. In vivid expectancy 
it awaits the morning of the resurrection, and the 
10 



110 THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. 

happy reunion of kindred souls, where no tear of 
grief bedews the cheek, no agonizing farewell rends 
the heart ; where a purer and holier love will fill the 
bosom than earth has ever known ; where dwell our 
kindred with the wise and good of untold ages ; 
where the " open ear of* the soul " will obtain knowl- 
edge from patriarchs and angels ; where our immor- 
tal spirits shall go free, and, wafted by angel wings, 
survey the boundless ocean of eternity. 



THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. 

Mrs. Hemans. 

They grew in beauty, side by side, 
They filled one home with glee ; 

Their graves are severed, far and wide, 
By mount, and stream, and sea. 

The same fond mother bent at night 
O'er each fair, sleeping brow ; 

She had each folded flower in sight — 
Where are those dreamers now ? 

One, 'midst the forest of the west, 

By a dark stream is laid ; 
The Indian knows his place of rest, 

Far in the cedar shade. 



THE GRAVES OP A HOUSEHOLD. Ill 

The sea, the blue, lone sea hath one — 

He lies where pearls lie deep ; 
He was the loved of all, yet none 

O'er his low bed may weep. 

One sleeps where southern vines are dressed, 

Above the noble slain : 
He wrapped his colors round his breast 

On a blood-red field of Spain. 

And one — o'er her the myrtle showers 

Its leaves, by soft winds fanned ; 
She faded 'midst Italian flowers — 

The last of that bright band. 

And parted thus they rest, who played 

Beneath the same green tree, 
Whose voices mingled as they prayed 

Around one parent knee. 

They that with smiles lit up the hall, 
And cheered with song the hearth — 

Alas for love, if thou wert all, 
And nought beyond, earth ! 



112 RETROSPECT. 



RETROSPECT. 

M. F. Tuppek. 

How many years are fled ! 

How many friends are dead ! 
Alas ! how fast 
The past hath passed ! 

How speedily life hath sped ! 

Places that knew me of yore 
Know me for theirs no more ; 
And sore at the change, 
Quite strange I range 
Where I was at home before. 

Thoughts and things, each day, 
Seem to be fading away ; 

Yet this is, I wot, 

Their lot to be not 
Continuing in one stay. 

A mingled mesh it seems 
Of facts and fancy's gleams ; 

I scarce have power, 

From hour to hour, 
To separate things from dreams. 



HEAVENWARD. 113 

Darkly, as in a glass, 

Like a vain shadow they pass ; 

Their ways they wend 

And tend to an end, 
The goal of life, alas ! 

Alas ? and wherefore so ? 

Be glad for this passing show ; 

The world and its Inst 

Back must to their dust 
Before the soul can grow. 

Expand, my willing mind, 
Thy nobler life to find ; 

Thy childhood leave, 

Nor grieve to bereave 
Thine age of toys behind. 



HEAVENWARD. 

Rev. A. C. Coxe. 

So, in our simple creed, 
We drop this frail mortality we wear, 
And — laud to Him who for our sakes did bleed. 
And on his cross our bitter griefs did bear — 
We know our ransomed nature certain heir 
Of deathless being from its dying seed. 
10* 



114 HEAVENWARD. 

They who nurse hopes live every day an age, 
And strive more fleet to live by living well : 

And so we hasten on our pilgrimage, 
Plucking earth's flowers, but fain in heaven to dwell. 

Life, in our ear, doth mean eternity ; 
And Time, our staff, but speeds us on our way, 

While all around poor voyagers we see, 
"Who bear it but to chronicle each day, 

And notch the hurrying hours of destiny 
In fearful units, numbering for dismay 

The lavished seeds of immortality. 
But 0, our souls take no account of time, 
For we are gazing into worlds sublime ; 

Our spirits are like song birds, nursed to light 
In climates far too rude, 
That, by a heavenly instinct, stretch their flight 

To skies where such bright plumes were made to brood, 
We know our kindred there, 
In genial warmth, their golden plumage wear. 

And sing their native notes forevermore : 
We yearn for purer air, 
And dream the music we were made to share, 

As home we waft us from an alien shore. 



THE PIOUS DEAD. 115 



THE PIOUS DEAD. 

Krummacher. 

The images of the pious dead continue to live in the 
hearts of their loving friends, like the image of the 
sun, which, reflecting itself in the waters, attracts them, 
at the same time, magnetically into its sphere ; and 
sorrow is transfigured in the ravishing prospect, " They 
went before us ; we are following after." Yes, whatev- 
er the earth has borne or bears of what is truly great 
and glorious, though it may disappear from the cor- 
ruptible eye, is nevertheless not lost to the children of 
God. It awaits us in the treasuries of heaven, in or- 
der to beam upon us there in superior splendor. Be 
patient, my friends ; time rolls rapidly away ; our long- 
ing has its end. The hour will strike, who knows how 
soon? — when the maternal lap of everlasting Love 
shall be opened to us ; and the full peace of God 
breathe around us from the palmy summits of Eden. 



116 RECOGNITION OF THE SAINTS IN HEAVEN. 



RECOGNITION OF THE SAINTS IN HEAVEN. 

Dr. John Dick. 

It has been asked whether, in this blessed abode, 
the saints will know one another. One should think 
that the question was unnecessary, as the answer nat- 
urally presents itself to every man's mind ; and it 
could only have occurred to some dreaming theolo- 
gian, who, in his airy speculations, has soared far be- 
yond the sphere of reason and common sense. Who can 
doubt whether the saints will know one another ? 
"What reason can be given why they should not? 
Would it be any part of their perfection to have all 
their former ideas obliterated, and to meet as stran- 
gers in another world ? Would it give us a more fa- 
vorable notion of the assembly in heaven, to suppose 
it to consist of a multitude of unknown individuals, 
who never hold communication with each other, or, by 
some inexplicable restraint, are prevented, amidst an 
intimate intercourse, from mutual discoveries? Or 
have they forgotten what they themselves were, so that 
they cannot reveal it to their associates ? What would 
be gained by this ignorance no man can tell ; but we 
can tell what would be lost by it. They would lose 
all the happiness of meeting again, on the peaceful 
shore, those from whom they were separated by the 
storms of life, of seeing, among the trophies of divine 
grace, many of whom they had despaired, and for 



HEAVEN. 117 

whose sakes they had gone down with sorrow to the 
grave ; of knowing the good which they had been 
honored to do, and being surrounded with those who 
had been saved by means of their prayers and labors. 
How could those whom he had been the means of con- 
verting, and building up in the holy faith, be to the 
minister of the gospel a crown of joy and rejoicing in 
the day of the Lord, if he did not recognize them 
when standing by his side ? The saints will be free 
from the turbulence of passion, but innocent affections 
will remain ; and could they spend eternal ages with- 
out asking, "Are our children here ? Are our still dear- 
er relations here? Have our friends, with whom we 
took sweet counsel together, found their way to this 
country, to which we travelled in company till death 
parted us ? " 



HEAVEN. 

Anonymous. 



No sickness there, 
No weary wasting of the frame away, 
No fearful shrinking from the midnight air, 
No dread of summer's bright and fervid ray ! 

No parted friends 
O'er mournful recollections have to weep ; 
No bed of death enduring love attends, 
To watch the coming of a pulseless sleep ! 



118 THE SPIRIT'S ECHO. 



THE SPIRIT'S ECHO. 



Mrs. Julia Norton. 



An echo ! hush ! 'Tis from the spirit land ! 
How full the note ! and like to that loved band 
That plumed their wings, and took their upward flight 
Where life was waning fast, and gloomy night 
Sat brooding o'er my soul with visage dark ; 
Then through the gloom they soared as doth the lark ; 
Above earth's storms, high in the clear, blue sky, 
And winged their way to blissful worlds on high. 

The echo still ! Can it a message bear ? 
Ye happy ones, escaped from earth's wild care, 
Doth earthly love still waft your spirits o'er 
The wave of time to this once cherished shore ? 
Where, lingering near the hallowed, sacred spot, 
There breathes a sigh for those whose weary lot 
Marks still their path, amid life's storms and foam, 
To that bright land, our promised happy home ? 

Still, still the note ! How sweet, how low, how clear ! 
It breathes of love ; it murmurs ; list ! 'tis near. 

ECHO. 

" Where the waters of time and eternity meet, 
Thou didst stand on the shore when dark sorrow beat 



DETACHED THOUGHTS. 119 

3ea-like, and dashing those whom she would wreck — 
While the tears of thy heart bowed low thy frail neck. 
Like a pure water lily, thoult rise from, the storm ; 
Like a spirit inhaling the breath of the morn, 
Like the eagle when soaring above his cloud nest, 
Thou'It be wafted on shore in the realm of the blest." 



DETACHED THOUGHTS. 

Cecil. 

Though we may endure much affliction, and pass 
through many deep waters, yet this is our honor and 
comfort, the Lord is with us ! and then — what is dif- 
ficulty? — what is tribulation? — what is death? — 
Death to a Christian is but an entrance into the city 
of God ; it is but joining a more blessed company, 
and singing in a more exalted strain, than he can in 
this world. 

What I do thou knowest not now ; but thou shalt knotv 
hereafter — is the unwearied language of God, in his 
providence. He will have ckedit every step. He 
will not assign reasons, because he will exercise faith. 

Leighton. 

Let this be our way, when we cannot find ease 
among men, to seek it in God. He knows the Ian- 



120 DETACHED THOUGHTS. 

guage of his children, and will not mistake it ; yea, 
where there may be somewhat weakness and distem- 
pers, he will bear with it. In all your distresses, in 
all your moanings, go to him, pour out your tears to 
him. Not only fire, but even water, where it wants a 
vent, will break upward. These tears drop not in our 
own lap, but they fall on his, and he hath a bottle to 
put them in ; if ye empty them, there they shall return 
in wine of strong consolation. 

Fenelon. 

Thy will he done in earth, as it is in heaven. Noth- 
ing is done here, any more than in heaven, but by the 
will or permission of God ; but men do not always 
love that will, because it is often opposite to their 
desires. If we sincerely loved this will of God, and 
only this, we should change our earth into a heaven. 
We should thank God for every thing, for evil as well 
as good, because evil would become good from his 
hand. We should not then murmur at the guidance 
of providence, but approve and adore it. 

MOLINOS. 

Be silent and believe. Hold thy peace, and let thy- 
self be guided by the hand of God. Suffer in patience, 
and walk on in strong faith ; and though it seems to 
thee, that thou dost nothing, and art idle, being so 
dumb and resigned, yet it is of infinite fruit. 



DETACHED THOUGHTS. 121 



Jean Paul Richtee. 

Man has two minutes and a half to live — one to 
smile, one to sigh, and a half to love — for in the 
middle of this he dies ! But the grave is not deep — 
it is the shining tread of an angel that seeks us. 
When the unknown hand throws the fatal dart at 
the end of man, then boweth he his head, and the dart 
only lifts the crown of thorns from his wounds. 

Be one sorrow alone forgiven thee, or made good to 
thee — the sorrow for thy dead ones ; for this sweet 
sorrow for the lost is itself but another form of con- 
solation. When the heart is full of longing for them, 
it is but another mode of continuing to love them ; 
and we shed tears as well when we think of their de- 
parture, as when we picture to ourselves our joyful re- 
union — and the tears, methinks, differ not. 

H. BoNAR. 

How fast we learn in the day of sorrow ! Scripture 
shines out in new effulgence ; every verse seems to 
contain a sunbeam, every promise stands out in illu- 
minated splendor ; things hard to be understood 
become in a moment plain. 

Rev. Thomas Brooks. 

Surely these afflictions are but the Lord's pruning 
knives, by which he will bleed my sins and prune my 
11 



122 DETACHED THOUGHTS. 

heart, and make it more fruitful ; they are but the 
Lord's potion, by which he will clear me, and rid me 
of those spiritual diseases and maladies which are 
most deadly and dangerous to my soul. 

O. WlNSLOW. 

It is our wisdom to know that no pure, unmixed 
sorrow ever befalls the Christian sufferer. Our Lord 
Jesus flung the curse and the sin to such an infinite 
distance from the church, that could his faith but dis- 
cern it, the believer would see nothing but love paint- 
ing the darkest cloud that ever threw its shadow upon 
his spirit. 

Anonymous. 

One, on being asked how he bore affliction so well, 
answered, " It lightens the stroke to draw near to Him 
who handles the rod." 

Sir Wm. Temple. 

I know no duty in religion more generally agreed 
on, nor more justly required by God Almighty, than 
a perfect submission to his will in all things ; nor do 
I think any disposition of mind can either please him 
more, or become us better, than that of being satisfied 
with all he gives, and contented with all he takes 
away. None, I am sure, can be of more honor to God, 
nor of more ease to ourselves. For, if we consider 
him as our Maker, we cannot contend with him ; if as 



DETACHED THOUGHTS. 123 

our Father, we ought not to distrust him ; so that we 
may be confident, whatever he does is intended for 
good ; and whatever happens that we interpret other- 
wise, yet we can get nothing by repining, nor save any 
thing by resisting. 

Anonymous. 

Why should we not speak of our pious, departed 
friends as having gone to heaven? Why should we 
not associate with their absence the bright glories of 
paradise, instead of the gloom of the grave ? When 
a friend who resides at a distance from us has left us 
for his home, and has had a painful and perilous jour- 
ney thither, when we know of his safe arrival among 
the objects of his affections, we do not, in our imagina- 
tions, dwell upon the perils of the way, but upon the 
joys he has reached. 

Dr. Chalmers. 

There may be audible music in heaven ; but its 
chief delight will be in the music of principles in full 
and consenting harmony with the laws of eternal rec- 
titude. There may be visions of loveliness there ; but 
I it will be the loveliness of virtue, as seen in God, and 
reflected back in family likeness from all his children. 

Saurin. 

Whether God afflict us in love or strike us in 
wrath, whether he afflict us for instruction or chasten 



124 DETACHED THOUGHTS. 

us for correction, our first duty under the rod is to 
acknowledge the equity of his hand. 

Krummachee. 

Affliction is a thorn, but still it is from God, and 
by it he pierces through the leaves of pride. Many 
trees grow better in the shade than in the sunshine. 
0, if God only be with us, then the furnace is changed 
into a fire of joy, a prison into a pleasure ground, an 
earthquake into a cheerful dance. Even the rod of 
his anger, like Aaron's rod, blossoms and bears al- 
monds ; or, like the staff of Jonathan, brings honey on 
its point. 

God often lets his people reach the shore as on the 
planks of a shipwrecked vessel. He deprives us of 
the cisterns in order to make us drink out of the foun- 
tain of waters. He frequently takes away our sup- 
ports, not that we may fall to the ground, but that he 
may himself become our rod and our staff. 

It is not one and the same to say, " God consoles 
me," and " God is my consolation." If the Lord con- 
sole me, then my heart is light, clear, and cheerful, and 
into the sorrow of my soul flows the feeling of joy. 
Is God himself my consolation ? then my heart may 
be torn, parched, and dark. I fear not, but am of 
good courage, and stand over my heart, and walk 
upon the waves, and am still. I have it not in feel- 
ings, but I have it in naked faith in that God who has 



DETACHED THOUGHTS. 125 

sworn to be my God ; I have it in that faith which 
hath and possesses that which I neither see, nor taste, 
nor feel. Faith in Jesus is the grave of sorrow. 

John Bitnyan. 

If thou canst hear, and bear the rod of affliction 
which God shalt lay upon thee, remember this lesson : 
thou art beaten that thou mayst be better. The Lord 
useth his flail of tribulation to separate the chaff from 
the wheat. 

The school of the cross is the school of light ; it 
discovers the world's vanity, baseness, and wicked- 
ness, and lets us see more of God's mind. Out of dark 
affliction comes a spiritual light. In times of affliction 
we commonly meet with the sweetest experiences of 
[the love of God. 

Did we heartily renounce the pleasures of this 
world, we should be very little troubled for our af- 
flictions ; that which renders an afflicted state so in- 
supportable to many, is because they are too much 
addicted to the pleasures of this life, and so cannot 
endure that which makes a separation between them. 

Young. 

Death is the crown of life : 
Were death denied, poor man would live in vain. 
Death wounds to cure ; we fall, we rise, we reign ; 
11* 



126 DETACHED THOUGHTS. 

Spring from our fetters, fasten to the skies, 
Where blooming Eden withers from our sight. 
This king of terrors is the prince of peace. 

MlLLMAN. 

It matters little at what hour of the day 
The righteous fall asleep. Death cannot come 
To him untimely who is fit to die ; 
The less of this cold world, the more of heaven 
The briefer life, the earlier immortality. 
« 

Browning. 

God keeps a niche 
In heaven to hold our idols ! and albeit 
He break them to our faces, and denied 
That our close kisses should impair their white, 
I know we shall behold them raised, complete, — 
The dust shook from their beauty, — glorified 
New Memnons singing in the great God-light. 



Wordsworth. 

Thou takest not away, Death ! 
Thou strik'st — and absence perisheth, 

Indifference is no more ; 
The future brightens on our sight ; 
For on the past hath fallen a light 

That tempts us to adore. 



DETACHED THOUGHTS. 127 



Shewell. 

Afflictions are the ministers of love, 
By Heaven appointed : — happy if they serve 
To bring us nearer home ! — to wean our hearts 
From toys and trifles ; and to fix them there, 
Where only lasting happiness is found ! 

RESIGNATION. 
Bishop Ken. 

Permit me, Father, like thy dearest Son, 
To cry, Not mine, but thy sole will be done ; 
Not mine, — for I am blind, and what to choose, 
What to desire, I know not, or refuse : 
I ill may good, and bitter sweet, may think ; 
Mistake my antidote, and poison drink. 
But thine be done — for thou omniscient art 
To know the wants and soundings of my heart. 

Friends, even in heaven, one happiness would 

miss, 
Should they not know each other when in bliss. 

Mrs. Hemans. 

Ye left me ! and earth's flowers were dim 

With records of the past ; 
And stars poured down another light 

Than o'er my youth they cast : 



128 DETACHED THOUGHTS. 

Birds will not sing as once they sung, 

When ye were at my side, 
And mournful tones are in the wind, 

Which I heard not till ye died ! 

SOTJTHEY. 

They sin who tell us love can die ; 

With life all other passions fly, 

All others are but vanity. 

In heaven ambition cannot dwell ; 

Nor avarice in the vaults of hell ; 

Earthly those passions of the earth, 

They perish where they have their birth ; 

But love is indestructible. 

Its holv flame forever burneth, 

From heaven it came, to heaven returneth ; 

Too oft on earth a troubled guest, 

At times deceived, at times oppressed, 

It here is tried and purified, 

Then hath in heaven its perfect rest. 

It soweth here in toil and care, 

But the harvest time of love is there. 



CHILDREN IN HEAVEN. 
Anonymous. 

Who are they whose little feet, 
Pacing life's dark journey through, 

Now have reached that heavenly seat 
They have ever kept in view ? 



a cottager's lament. 129 

Each the welcome " Come " awaits, 

Conquerors over death and sin ; 
Lift your heads, ye golden gates, 

Let the little travellers in. 



" While the child was yet alive, I fasted and wept : for I said, Who can 
tell whether God will be gracious to me, that the child may live ? But 
now he is dead, wherefore should I fast ? can I bring him back again ? I 
shall go to him, but he shall not return to me." — 2 Samuel xii. 



A COTTAGER'S LAMENT. 

Anonymous. 

Sweet, laughing child — the cottage door 

Stands free and open now ; 
But, 0, its sunshine gilds no more 

The gladness of thy brow. 
Thy merry step hath passed away, 
Thy laughing sport is hushed for aye. 

Thy mother by the fireside sits, 

And listens for thy call ; 
And slowly, slowly as she knits, 

Her quiet tears down fall : 
Her little hindering thing is gone, 
And undisturbed she may work on. 



130 THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. 



THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. 

H. W. Longfellow. 

There is a Reaper whose name is Death, 

And, with his sickle keen, 
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, 

And the flowers that grow between. 

" Shall I have nought that is fair ? " saith he ; 

" Have nought but the bearded grain ? 
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, 

I will give them all back again." 

He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, 

He kissed their drooping leaves ; 
It was for the Lord of Paradise 

He bound them in his sheaves. 

" My Lord hath need of these flowerets gay," 

The Reaper said, and smiled ; 
" Dear tokens of the earth are they, 

Where he was once a child. 

" They shall all bloom in fields of light, 

Transplanted by my care ; 
And saints, upon their garments white, 

These sacred blossoms wear." 



ON THE DEATH OP AN INFANT. 131 

And the mother gave, in tears and pain, 

The flowers she most did love ; 
She knew she should find them all again 

In the fields of light above. 

0, not in cruelty, not in wrath, 

The Reaper came that day ; 
7 Twas an angel visited the green earth, 

And took the flowers away. 



ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. 

Hervey. 

Yonder white stone, emblem of the innocence it 
covers, informs the beholder of one who breathed 
out its tender soul almost in the instant of receiving 
it. There the peaceful infant, without so much as 
knowing what labor and vexation mean, "lies still, 
and is quiet : it sleeps, and is at rest. 77 (Job iii. 13.) 
Staying only to wash away its native impurity in the 
laver of regeneration, it bade a speedy adieu to time 
and terrestrial things. What did the little hasty 
sojourner find so forbidding and disgustful in our 
upper world to occasion its precipitant exit? It is 
written, indeed, of its suffering Savior, that when he 
had tasted the vinegar mingled with gall, he would 
not drink, (Matt, xxvii. 34 ; ) and did our new-come 
stranger begin to sip the cup of life, but, perceiving 



132 ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. 

the bitterness, turn away its head, and refuse the 
draught? Was this the cause why the wary babe 
only opened its eyes, just looked on the light, and 
then withdrew into the more inviting regions of un- 
disturbed repose? 

Happy voyager! no sooner launched than arrived 
at the haven. . . . Highly-favored probationer ! 
accepted without being exercised. It was thy pecu- 
liar privilege not to. feel the slightest of those evils 
which oppress thy surviving kindred ; which frequently 
fetch groans from the most manly fortitude, or most 
elevated faith. The arrows of calamity, barbed with 
anguish, are often fixed deep in our choicest comforts. 
The fiery darts of temptation, shot from the hand of 
hell, are always flying in showers around our integ- 
rity. To thee, sweet babe, both these distresses and 
dangers were alike unknown. 

Consider this, ye mourning parents, and dry up your 
tears. Why should you lament that your little ones 
are crowned with victory before the sword was drawn, 
or the conflict begun ? Perhaps the Supreme Disposer 
of events foresaw some inevitable snare of temptation 
forming, or some dreadful storm of adversity impend- 
ing. And why should you be so dissatisfied with that 
kind precaution which housed your pleasant plant, 
and removed into shelter a tender flower, before the 
thunders roared, before the lightnings flew, before the 
tempest poured its rage ? 0, remember, they are not 
lost, but taken away from the evil to come. (Is. lvii. 1.) 



DEATH OF THE FIRST BORN. 133 



DEATH OF THE FIRST BORN. 

Willis Gaylord Claek. 

Young mother r he is gone ! 
His dimpled cheek no more will touch thy breast ; 

No more the music tone 
Float from his lips, to thine all fondly pressed ; 
His smile and happy laugh are lost to thee : 
Earth must his mother and his pillow be. 

His was the morning hour, 
And he hath passed in beauty from the day, 

A bud, not yet a flower, 
Torn, in its sweetness, from the parent spray ; 
The death wind swept him to his soft repose, 
As frost in spring time blights the early rose. 

Never on earth again 
Will his rich accents charm thy listening ear, 

Like some JEolian strain, 
Breathing at eventide serene and clear ; 
His voice is choked in dust, and on his eyes 
Th ? unbroken seal of peace and silence lies. 

And from thy yearning heart, 
Whose inmost core was warm with love for him, 
12 



134 DEATH OF THE FIRST BORN. 

A gladness must depart, 
And those kind eyes with many tears be dim ; 
"While lovely memories, an unceasing train, 
Will turn the raptures of the past to pain. 

Yet, mourner, while the day 
Rolls like the darkness of a funeral by, 

And hope forbids one ray 
To stream athwart the grief-discolored sky, 
There breaks upon thy sorrow's evening gloom 
A trembling lustre from beyond the tomb. 

7 Tis from the better land ! 
There, bathed in radiance that around them springs, 

Thy loved one's wings expand ; 
As with the choiring cherubim he sings, 
And all the glory of that God can see, 
Who said, on earth, to children, " Come to me." 

Mother, thy child is blessed : 
And though his presence may be lost to thee, 

And vacant leave thy breast, 
And missed a sweet load from thy parent knee, 
Though tones familiar from thine ear have passed, 
Thou'lt meet thy first born with his Lord at last. 






HYMN FOR AN INFANT'S FUNERAL. 135 



HYMN FOR AN INFANT'S FUNEEAL. 

Rev. Legh Richmond. 

Hark ! how the angels, as they fly, 
Sing through the regions of the sky, 
Bearing an infant in their arms, 
Securely freed from sin's alarms. 

" Welcome, dear babe, to Jesus' breast, 
Forever there in joy to rest : 
Welcome to Jesus' courts above, 
To sing thy great Redeemer's love ! 

" We left the heavens, and flew to earth, 
To watch thee at thy mortal birth : 
Obedient to thy Savior's will, 
We staid to love and guard thee still. 

" We, thy protecting angels, came 
To see thee blessed in Jesus' name ; 
When the baptismal seal was given, 
To mark thee, child, an heir of heaven. 

" When the resistless call of death 
Bade thee resign thy infant breath, 
When parents wept, and thou didst smile, 
We were thy guardians all the while. 



136 AN ANGEL PRESENCE. 

" Now, with the lightning's speed, we bear 
The child committed to our care ; 
With anthems such as angels sing, 
We fly to bear thee to our King. 77 

Thus sweetly borne, he flies to rest ; 
We know 7 tis well — nay, more, 7 tis best. 
When we our pilgrim 7 s path have trod, 
0, may we find him with our God ! 



AN ANGEL PRESENCE. 

Rev. R. C. Waterston. 

It is noteworthy that children who are taken away 
by death always remain in the memory of parents as 
children. Other children grow old, but this one con- 
tinues in youth. It looks as we last saw it in health. 
The imagination hears its sweet voice and light step ; 
sees its silken hair and clear bright eyes, all just as they 
were. Ten and twenty years may go by ; the child re- 
mains in the memory, as at first, a bright, happy child. 
. . . Its young and beautiful form moves before us : 
and what is such a memory but an angel presence ? Cer- 
tainly next to seeing an angel, is seeing with a parent's 
heart such a cherished form. Amidst this world of 
ambition and show, who shall say that this is not a 
means, under Providence, of subduing and spiritualiz- 



ON MAKING THE GRAVE OF A NEW-BORN CHILD. 137 

ing the mind ? . . . Thus, in order to cherish such 
a remembrance, we are at times willing to turn even 
from the charms of the living. The sigh becomes 
sweeter than the song. Sorrow subdued becomes a 
friend, and sacred joy is mingled with the tears of holy 
recollection. ♦ . . Thus, as grief ascends the Mount 
of Time, she seems to pass through a state of transfig- 
uration. The convulsive agony changes to passive sor- 
row, and querulous misgivings to quiet meditation. 
There must be distress ; let, then, the gushing tears 
flow, for it is the course of nature ; but, even with this, 
let there be the victory of the Christian faith, the glo- 
rious hope of our holy religion. 



THOUGHTS WHILE MAKING THE GRAVE OF 
A NEW-BORN CHILD. 

N. P. Willis. 

Room, gentle flowers ! my child would pass to heaven ! 
Ye looked not for her yet with your soft eyes, 
watchful ushers at Death's narrow door ! 
But lo ! while you delay to let her forth, 
Angels, beyond, stay for her ! One long kiss 
From lips all pale with agony, and tears 
Wrung after anguish had dried up with fire 
The eyes that wept them, were the cup of life 
Held as a welcome to her. Weep, mother ! 
12* 



138 ON MAKING THE GRAVE OP A NEW-BORN CHILD. 

But not that from this cup of bitterness 
A cherub of the sky has turned away. 

One look upon thy face ere thou depart ! 

My daughter ! it is soon to let thee go ! 

My daughter ! with thy birth has gushed a spring 

I knew not of — filling my heart with tears, 

And turning with strange tenderness to thee — 

A love — God ! it seems so — that must flow 

Far as thou fleest, and 'twixt heaven and me, 

Henceforward, be a bright and yearning chain 

Drawing me after thee ! And so, farewell ! 

? Tis a harsh world, in which affection knows 

No place to treasure up its loved and lost 

But the foul grave ! Thou who so late wast sleeping 

Warm in the close fold of a mother's heart, 

Scarce from her breast a single pulse receiving 

But it was sent thee with some tender thought, 

How can I leave thee — here ! Alas for man ! 

The herb in its humility may fall, 

And waste into the bright and genial air, 

"While we — by hands that ministered in life 

Nothing but love to us — are thrust away, 

The earth flung in upon our just cold bosoms, 

And the warm sunshine trodden out forever ! 

Yet have I chosen for thy grave, my child, 
A bank where I have lain in summer hours, 
And thought how little it would seem like death 
To sleep amid such loveliness. The brook, 
Tripping with laughter down the rocky steps 
That led up to thy bed, would still trip on, 



ON MAKING THE GRAVE OF A NEW-BORN CHILD. 139 

Breaking the dead hush of the mourners gone ; 

The birds are never silent that build here, 

Trying to sing down the more vocal waters : 

The slope is beautiful with moss and flowers, 

And far below, seen under arching leaves, 

Glitters the warm sun on the village spire, 

Pointing the living after thee. And this 

Seems like a comfort ; and, replacing now 

The flowers that have made room for thee, I go 

To whisper the same peace to her who lies 

Robbed of her child and lonely. ; Tis the work 

Of many a dark hour, and of many a prayer, 

To bring the heart back from an infant gone. 

Hope must give o'er, and busy fancy blot 

The images from all the silent rooms, 

And every sight and sound familiar to her 

Undo its sweetest link ; and so, at last, 

The fountain — that, once struck, must flow forever — 

Will hide and waste in silence. When the smile 

Steals to her pallid lip again, and spring 

Wakens the buds above thee, we will come, 

And, standing by thy music-haunted grave, 

Look on each other cheerfully, and say, 

" A child that we have loved is gone to heaven, 

And by this gate of flowers she passed away." 



140 TO A MOTHER BEREFT OF A DAUGHTER. 



TO A MOTHER BEREFT OF AN INFANT 
DAUGHTER. 

Rev. Herman Hooker. 

God does nothing without a reason. That reason 
may have respect to you ; it may have respect to your 
child ; and not unlikely to both. He sees effects in 
their causes. Your case may have been this : you may 
have been in danger of loving the world too much, and 
he removed the cause in time. Her case may have 
been this : she may have been in danger from the 
growth of a corrupt nature, and he took her in the 
bud of being that she might grow without imperfec- 
tion, " for of such is the kingdom of heaven." Think 
of your child, then, not as dead, but as living ; not as a 
flower that is withered, but as one that is transplanted, 
and, touched by a divine hand, is blooming in richer 
colors and sweeter shades than those of earth, though 
to your eyes these last may have been beautiful, more 
beautiful than you will hope to see again. 






LUTHER ON LOSING A DAUGHTER. 141 



WORDS OF LUTHER ON LOSING A 
DAUGHTER. 

Michelet's Life of Luther. 

Luther, when he lost his daughter Magdalen, who 
died in 1542, said to his wife, who was bitterly weep- 
ing, "Dear Catharine, console thyself; think where 
our daughter is gone, for sure she has passed happily 
into peace. The flesh bleeds, doubtless, for such is its 
nature ; but the spirit lives, and goes to the place of 
its wishes. Children do not dispute ; what we tell 
them, they believe. With them all is simplicity and 
truth. They die without pain or grief, without strug- 
gling, without temptations assailing them, without 
bodily suffering, just as though they were merely going 
to sleep." Then, as he looked upon her, he said, 
" Dear child, thou wilt rise again ; thou wilt shine like 
a star — ay, like the sun. . . . I am joyful in spirit, 
but 0, how sad in the flesh ! 7 Tis marvellous I should 
know she is certainly at rest, that she is well, and yet 
that I should be so sad." On the same subject he 
writes thus to Jonas : " You will have heard of the 
new birth into the kingdom of Christ of my daughter 
Magdalen. Though my wife and I ought, in reality, 
to have no other feeling than one of profound grat- 
itude for her happy escape from the power of the flesh, 
the world, the Turk, and the devil, yet the force of 



142 DIRGE FOR A YOUNG GIRL. 

natural affection is so great, that we cannot support 
our loss without constant weeping and bitter sorrow 
— a thorough death of the heart, so to speak. We 
have ever before us her features, her words, her ges- 
tures, her every action in life, and on her death bed — 
my darling, my all-dutiful, all-obedient daughter ! 
Even the death of Christ — and what are all other 
deaths in comparison with that? — cannot tear her 
from my thoughts, as it ought to do. . . . She was, 
as you well know, all gentleness, amiability, and ten- 
derness." 



DIRGE FOR A YOUNG GIRL. 

James T. Fields. 

Underneath the sod, low lying, 

Dark and drear, 
Sleepeth one who left, in dying, 

Sorrow here. 

Yes, they're ever bending o'er her 

Eyes that weep ; 
Forms that to the cold grave bore her 

Vigils keep. 

When the summer moon is shining 

Soft and fair, 
Friends she loved in tears are twining 

Chaplets there. 



ACTIVE DUTY ALLEVIATES SOREOW. 143 

Rest in peace, thou gentle spirit, 

Throned above ; 
Souls like thine with God inherit 

Life and love. 



ACTIVE DUTY ALLEVIATES SORROW. 

Hannah More. 

In my judgment, one of the best proofs that sorrow 
has had its right effect is, that it has not incapacitated 
for business ; your business being duties. Under the 
pressure of heavy affliction, it is soothing to the heart 
to sink down into the enjoyment of a kind of sad in- 
dulgence, and to make itself believe that this is right, 
as it is gratifying ; especially while it mixes some pious 
thoughts with this unprofitable tranquillity. But who 
can say, even after the severest loss, I have no duties, 
no cares in life, remaining ? Much less can a tender 
mother say it, who has still so many looking to her 
advice, and, what is almost more, to her example. It 
is not the smallest part of the good that you may do 
them, to let them see what effect great trials have upon 
your mind, and that Christianity enables you to bear 
up against such a stroke. It is an excellent sign that, 
after the cares and labors of the day, you can return 
to your pious exercises and meditations with undimin- 
ished attention. This will be a good criterion by 
which to judge of your state. 



144 TO THE MEMORY OP A CHILD. 



TO THE MEMORY OF A CHILD. 

After the German of Salis. 

H. W. Rockwell. 

Into the silent land, 
Thither, thither, 
Didst thou go forth with none to comfort thee ? 
Didst thou no light in that dark country see ? 
No friend to take thee by thy little hand, 
To lead thee gently to the land 
Of the dear departed, 

Into the silent land ! 

• • • 

Thou art happy now at last, 
This painful life o'erpast ; 
Thou art happy now at last on heaven's 
happy shore ; 
Amid the shining bands 

Of angels thou dost stand, 
And lift thy little hands 
Evermore, 
In the land 
Of the dear departed, 
Afar in the silent land ! 



TO A BEREAVED FATHER. 145 



TO A BEREAVED FATHER. 

Archbishop Leighton. 

It was a sharp stroke of a pen that told me your 
pretty Johnny was dead ; and I felt it truly more than, 
to my remembrance, I did the death of any child in 
my lifetime. Sweet thing ! and is he so quickly laid to 
sleep? Happy he! Though we shall have no more 
the pleasure of his lisping and laughing, he shall have 
no more the pain of crying, nor of being sick, nor of 
dying ; and hath wholly escaped the trouble of school- 
ing, and all other suffering of boys, and the riper and 
deeper griefs of riper years, this poor life being all 
along nothing but a linked chain of many sorrows and 
many deaths. Tell his mother she is now much more 
akin to the other world ; and this will quickly be 
passed to us all. John is but gone an hour or two 
sooner to bed, as children use to do, and we are 
undressing to follow. And the more we put off the 
love of this present world, and all things superfluous, 
beforehand, we shall have the less to do when we 
lie down. 

13 



146 TO A BEREAVED MOTHER. 



TO A BEREAVED MOTHER. 

John Quincy Adams. 

Sure, to the mansions of the blest 

When infant innocence ascends, 
Some angel, brighter than the rest, 

The spotless spirit's flight attends. 
On wings of ecstasy they rise, 

Beyond where worlds material roll ; 
Till some fair sister of the skies 

Receives the unpolluted soul. 

That inextinguishable beam, 

With dust united at our birth, 
Sheds a more dim, discolored gleam 

The more it lingers upon earth. 
Closed in this dark abode of clay, 

The stream of glory faintly burns ; 
Not unobserved, the lucid ray 

To its own native fount returns. 

But when the Lord of mortal breath 

Decrees his bounty to resume, 
And points the silent shaft of death 

Which speeds an infant to the tomb, 
No passion fierce, nor low desire, 

Has quenched the radiance of the flame ; 



TO A BEREAVED MOTHER. 147 

Back to its God the living fire 
Reverts, unclouded as it came. 



Fond mourner, be that solace thine ; 

Let Hope her healing charm impart, 
And soothe, with melodies divine, 

The anguish of a mother's heart. 
0, think ! the darlings of thy love, 

Divested of this earthly clod, 
Amid unnumbered saints above, 

Bask in the bosom of their God. 

Of their short pilgrimage on earth 

Still tender images remain : 
Still, still they bless thee for their birth, 

Still filial gratitude retain. 
Each anxious care, each rending sigh, 

That wrung for them the parent's breast, 
Dwells on remembrance in the sky, 

Amid the raptures of the blest. 

O'er thee, with looks of love, they bend ; 

For thee the Lord of life implore ; 
And oft from sainted bliss descend, 

Thy wounded quiet to restore. 
Oft, in the stillness of the night, 

They smooth the pillow of thy bed ; 
Oft, till the morn's returning light, 

Still watchful hover o'er thy head. 

Hark ! in such strains as saints employ, 
They whisper to thy bosom peace ; 



148 THE ENDURANCE OF AFFLICTIONS. 

Calm the perturbed heart to joy, 
And bid the streaming sorrow cease. 

Then dry, henceforth, the bitter tear ; 
Their part and thine inverted see : 

Thou wert their guardian angel here, 
They guardian angels now to thee. 

" God seldom gives his people so sweet a foretaste of their future rest 
as in their deep afflictions. He keeps his most precious cordials for the 
time of our greatest faintings and dangers. He gives them when he 
knows they are needed and will be valued, and when he is sure to be 
thanked for them, and that his people will be rejoiced by them.' , — Baxter. 



THE ENDURANCE OP AFFLICTIONS. 

Rev. Egbert Hall. 

Let none, when under affliction, think that they are 
under God's anger, so as to have lost his favor, and 
forfeited the complacency of their heavenly Father. 
We should, indeed, examine ourselves, to see if there 
be any reason for particular calamities, from our pecu- 
liar delinquencies in duty, or from corruptions which 
we have indulged ; and thus we should " turn unto Him 
that smiteth us." But we should consider our trials as 
springing from love, as having their origin in our im- 
perfect state of character, as made necessary by our 
sins. We should consider that they are sent to subdue 
in us the inclinations of " the old man," and to form in 
us Jesus Christ, in all his features of " righteousness 



THE ENDURANCE OF AFFLICTIONS. 149 

and true holiness. 7 ' Thus the Christian regards afflic- 
tions no longer with that terror which they impress on 
a person not in a state of reconciliation with God, and 
who derives his view of events only from a general 
notion of the providence of God. To such persons 
they appear the beginning of evils, and they lead them 
to contemplate God more with terror and dismay than 
with confidence and delight. But the Christian under 
affliction considers that he is, indeed, under the rebuke 
of a heavenly Father, but that it is with a view to his 
benefit. He considers that God deals with him as with 
a son ; that God is his Parent ; that he measures every 
stroke : that he sits by the furnace and assuages the 
flame, or increases his strength to endure it ; that he 
superintends the whole process ; and that, if patience 
have its perfect work, he will come out of it benefited, 
and, as it were, purified from dross by the furnace. 
Those who live in prosperity, and wealth, and success, 
and who are strangers to trials, may boast of their 
pleasures and joys. But all this is a dark mark. They 
are, perhaps, abandoned of God, because they have re- 
jected the various calls of his providence and Holy 
Spirit. A person, however benevolent, extends not his 
paternal care to strangers and foreigners, but he is 
most peculiarly attentive to his children ; he takes 
pains with them ; he will not allow them to contract 
evil habits, or to follow their corruptions, though, in 
correcting them, he do it at the expense of their pres- 
ent comfort. For all in our nature of discipline 
crosses our natural inclinations and wishes, and is at- 
tended with uneasiness and annoyance. To endure 
these afflictions and crosses, in some way or other, is an 
13* 



150 THE ENDURANCE OF AFFLICTIONS. 

effect of necessity ; but to endure them as a Christian 
is an act of grace. The Christian, convinced of the 
design of God in affliction, yields himself into his 
hands. He says, in humble prayer, " Correct me, but 
with judgment ; not in thine anger, lest thou bring 
me to nothing." He recognizes the hand of God as 
afflicting ; he looks beyond the instruments, the injus- 
tice or unkindness of men, the impressions of the 
wickedness of the worst of mankind. He sees the 
wicked as God's instruments. To have higher thoughts 
of God under his rebukes, to cherish an undiminished 
love of his character, to turn with penitence and res- 
ignation to the hand of him that smiteth ; not to be 
like Israel, of whom the prophet says, "The people 
turneth not unto him that smiteth them, neither do they 
seek the Lord of hosts," is the genuine mark of filial 
grace. The child, when chastened by a parent, clings 
only the closer to that parent. Thus the Christian 
cleaves and clings closer, as it were, to his heavenly 
Father under chastisement. He does not run away to 
the paths of disobedience, and flee to a distance from 
God ; but he approaches nearer to him, and inquires 
the more earnestly how to please him. This is to en- 
dure chastisement like a child, to vindicate the charac- 
ter of God, to understand the motives of his conduct, 
to advance in all things the designs of his grace. 



DEATH OF AN INFANT. 151 



DEATH OF AN INFANT. 

Mrs. Sigourney. 

Death found strange beauty on that polished brow, 
And dashed it out. There was a tint of rose 
On cheek and lip. He touched the veins with ice, 
And the rose faded. 

Forth from those blue eyes 
There spake a wishful tenderness, a doubt 
"Whether to grieve or sleep, which innocence 
Alone may wear. "With ruthless haste he bound 
The silken fringes of those curtaining lids 
Forever. 

There had been a murmuring sound, 
With which the babe would claim its mother's ear, 
Charming her even to tears. The spoiler set 
The seal of silence. 

But there beamed a smile, 
So fixed, so holy, from that cherub brow, 
Death gazed, and left it there. He dared not steal 
The signet ring of Heaven. 



152 MY CHILD. 



MY CHILD. 

Rev. John Pierpont. 

I cannot make him dead. 

His fair, sunshiny head 
Is ever bounding round my study chair ; 

Yet, when my eyes, now dim 

With tears, I turn to him, 
The vision vanishes — he is not there ! 

I walk my parlor floor, 

And through the open door 
I hear a footfall on the chamber stair ; 

I'm stepping towards the hall 

To give the boy a call ; 
And then bethink me that — he is not there. 

I thread the crowded street ; 

A satchelled lad I meet, 
With the same beaming eyes and colored hair, 

And, as he's running by, 

Follow him with my eye, 
Scarcely believing that — he is not there. 

I know his face is hid 
Under the coffin lid ; 



MY CHILD. 153 

Closed are his eyes ; cold is his forehead ; 

My hand that marble felt ; 

O'er it in prayer I knelt ; 
Yet my heart whispers that — he is not there. 

I cannot make him dead. 

When passing by the bed, 
So long watched over with parental care, 

My spirit and my eye 

Seek it inquiringly, 
Before the thought comes that — he is not there. 

When, at the cool, gray break 

Of day, from sleep I wake, 
With my first breathing of the morning air 

My soul goes up with joy 

To Him who gave my boy ; 
Then comes the sad thought that — he is not there. 

When at the day's calm close, 

Before we seek repose, 
I'm with his mother, offering up our prayer, 

Whatever I may be saying, 

I am, in spirit, praying 
For our boy's spirit, though — he is not there. 

Not there ! — where, then, is he ? 

The form I used to see 
Was but the raiment that he used to wear. 

The grave, that now doth press 

Upon that cast-off dress, 
Is but his wardrobe locked : lie is not there. 



154 SONGS IN THE NIGHT OF BEREAVEMENT. 

He lives ; in all the past 

He lives ; nor, to the last, 
Of seeing him again will I despair ; 

In dreams I see him now ; 

And, on his angel brow, 
I see it written, " Thou shalt see me there. 77 

Yes, we all live to God ! 

Father, thy chastening rod 
So help us, thine afflicted ones, to bear, 

That, in the spirit land, 

Meeting at thy right hand, 
'Twill. be our heaven to find that — he is there. 



SONGS IN THE NIGHT OF BEREAVEMENT. 

OCTAVIUS WlNSLOW, 

Ah, heavy as that night is, there is a song even for 
it, smitten, weeping soul. Jesus was bereaved. Can 
you not sing of this ? " Jesus wept." Is there no mel- 
ody in these words? 0, yes! As one who himself I 
knew and felt the blank which death creates in human! 
friendship, as one whose tears' once fell upon the cold 
clay, while no hand was outstretched to wipe them, he' 
sympathizes with yOur present sorrow, and is prepared 
to make it all his own. Wide as is the chasm, deep as 
is the void, mournful as is the blank which death has 






SONGS IN THE NIGHT OF BEREAVEMENT. 155 

created, Christ can fill it ; and filling it with his love, 
with his presence, with himself, how sweet will be 
your song in the night of your sorrow ! — " He hath 
'done all things well." 0, there is not a single hour of 
the long night of our woe, but if we turn and rest in 
Jesus, we shall find material for a hymn of praise such 
as seraphs cannot sing. 

Nor must we pass by David's sweet song in the dark 
night of his domestic calamity and grief : " Although 
my house be not so with God, yet he hath made with 
me an everlasting covenant, ordered in all things and 
sure ; for this is all my salvation, and all my desire, 
although he maketh it not to grow." (2 Sam. xxiii. 5.) 
The everlasting covenant which God has made with 
Jesus, and through Jesus with all his beloved people, 
individually, is a strong ground of consolation amidst 
the tremblings of human hope, the fluctuations of 
creature things, and the instability of all that earth 
calls good. . . . What a friend, what a brother, 
what a helper is Jesus! Never, no, never does he leave 
his suffering one to travel the night of bereavement 
unvisited, unsoothed by his presence. He is with you 
now, and of his faithfulness that never falters, of his 
love that never changes, of his tenderness that never 
lessens, of his patience that never wearies, of his grace 
that never decays, of his watchfulness that never slum- 
bers, you may sing in the storm night of your grief. . . 



156 THE DYING INFANT TO ITS MOTHER, 



THE DYING INFANT TO ITS MOTHER. 

Rev. R. Cecil. 
" Let me go, for the day breaketh." — Genesis xxxii. 36. 

Cease here longer to detain me, 
Kindest mother, drowned in woe ; 

Now thy kind caresses pain me ; 
Morn advances — let me go. 

See yon orient streak appearing, 

Harbinger of endless day ; 
Hark ! a voice, the darkness cheering, 

Calls my new-born soul away ! 

Lately launched, a trembling stranger, 
On this world's wide, boisterous flood, 

Pierced with sorrows, tossed with danger, 
Gladly I return to God. 

Now my cries shall cease to grieve thee, 
Now my trembling heart find rest ; 

Kinder arms than thine receive me, 
Softer pillow than thy breast. 

Weep not o'er these eyes that languish, 
Upward turning towards their home ; 



THE DYING INFANT TO ITS MOTHER. 157 

Raptured they'll forget all anguish, 
While they wait to see thee come. 

There, my mother, pleasures centre ; 

Weeping, parting, care, or woe 
Ne'er our Father's house shall enter : 

Morn advances — let me go. 

As through this calm and holy dawn 
Silent glides my parting breath, 

To an Everlasting Morning, 
Gently close my eyes in death. 

Blessings endless, richest blessings, 
Pour their streams upon thy heart ; 

Though no language yet possessing 
Breathes my spirit ere we part. 

Yet to leave thee sorrowing rends me : 

Now again this voice I hear : 
Rise! — may every grace attend thee, 

Rise, and seek to meet me there ! 

" In afflictions, we experience not so much what our strength is, as 
what is the strength of God in us, and what the aid of divine grace is, 
which often hears us up under them to a surprising degree, and makes 
us joyful by a happy exit; so that we shaU be able to say, My God, my 
Strength, and my Deliverer" — Leighton. 

14 



158 LETTER OP CONDOLENCE. 



LETTER OP CONDOLENCE.* 

Edward Payson, D. D. 

My dear brother and sister in Christ, and now 
brother and sister in affliction, the letters which ac- 
company this will inform you why I write. I see and 
share in the poignant grief which those letters occa- 
sion ; nor would I rudely interrupt it. I will sit down 
and weep with you in silence for a while ; and when 
the first gush of wounded affection is past, when the 
tribute which nature demands, and which religion does 
not forbid, has been paid to the memory of your dear 
departed babe, I will attempt to whisper a word of 
consolation. May the " God of all consolation " make 
it such. Were I writing to parents who know nothing 
of religion, I should indeed despair of affording you 
any consolation. My task would be difficult indeed, 
nor should I know what to say. I could only tell 
them of a God whom they had never known, of a 
Savior with whom they had formed no acquaintance, 
of a Comforter whose consoling power they had never 
experienced, of a Bible from whose rich treasures they 
had never been taught to derive support. But in 
writing to you, my only difficulty is of a very different 

* This letter was addressed by Dr. Payson, to two of his flock, who, 
in their absence from home, received with it the afflicting intelligence of 
the death of their only child. 



LETTER OP CONDOLENCE. 159 

kind. It consists in selecting from the innumerable 
topics of consolation contained in the Scriptures those 
which are best adapted to your peculiar situation. So 
numerous are they, that I know not which to mention 
or which to oniil May God guide my choice and 
direct my pen. It is needless, in writing to Christian 
parents, to you, to enlarge on the common topics of 
consolation. I need not tell you who has done this — 
who it is that gives and takes away. 

I need not tell you, that " whom the Lord loveth he 
chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiv- 
eth. 77 I need not tell you of the great duties of 
, resignation and submission, for you have long been 
learning them in a painful but salutary school. And 
need I tell you that He who inflicts your sufferings 
knows their number and weight, knows all the pain 
you feel, and sympathizes with you, even as you once 
sympathized with your dear babe? for "as a father 
pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that 
fear him. 77 0, think of this : the pity, the parental pity, 
of a God ! Who would not willingly be afflicted, to 
be thus pitied ? Go, then, my dear brother and sister, 
and lean with sweet, confiding love upon the bosom 
of this pitying, sympathizing Friend : there deposit all 
your sorrows, and hear him saying, The cup which I 
give- you, my children, will you not drink it? Re- 
member, he knows all its bitterness. He himself men- 
tions the grief of parents mourning for a first-born 
,and only child as exceedingly great. Remember, too, 
that taking this bitter cup with cheerfulness from your 
Father's hand will be considered by him as an un- 
equivocal token of your filial affection. " Now I know 



160 LETTER OP CONDOLENCE. 

that thou lovest me/ 7 said he to Abraham, " seeing thou 
hast not withheld thy son, thine only son, from me." 
It requires the same kind of grace, if not the same 
degree of grace, to resign a child willingly to God, 
as to sacrifice it on the altar ; and if you are en- 
abled thus to resign your babe, God will say to you, 
Now I know that ye love me, seeing ye withheld not 
your child, your only child, from me. 

If, at times when " all the parent rises in your 
bosoms/ 7 these consolations should prove insufficient 
to quiet your sorrows, think on what is the situation 
and employment of your dear departed child. She 
is, doubtless, praising God ; and, next to. the gift of 
Christ, she probably praises him for giving her par- 
ents who prayed for her, and dedicated her to God. 
She now knows all that you did for her, and loves 
and thanks you for it, and will love and thank you 
forever ; for though natural ties are dissolved by 
death, yet those spiritual ties which unite you and 
your child will last long as eternity. She has per- 
formed all the work, and done all the good, for which 
she was sent to us, and thus fulfilled the end of her 
earthly existence ; and if you have been the means 
of bringing into being a little immortal, who had 
just lighted on these shores, and then took her flight 
to heaven, you have reason to be thankful ; for it is 
an honor and a favor. Neither your existence nor 
your union has been in vain, since you have been the 
instruments of adding one more blessed voice to the 
choirs above. 



ON THE DEATH OF A DAUGHTER. 161 



TO A MOTHER ON THE DEATH OF A 
DAUGHTER. 

Mrs. Dana. 

Mother, IVe news for thee from heaven ; 

Thy daughter boweth near the throne ; 
0, canst thou not for her rejoice, 

Though thou art left alone ? 

Hast thou not seen her lovely eye 

Gaze on thee through her glittering tears. 

Though thou didst strive from every ill 
To shield her tender years ? 

Mother, thy daughter weeps no more ; 

For all her tears are wiped away ; 
Exhaled like dewdrops from the rose 

Beneath the sun's bright ray. 

Mother, thy daughter is in heaven ; 

And pain can never reach her there ; 
No sickness comes to those who breathe 
„ That pure, delightful air. 

Look up with Faith's observant eye, 
And see thine angel daughter now ; 

I would not wish to call her back 
To this dark world — wouldst thou ? 
14* 



162 A CHERUB. 

" 0, no, 0, no," I hear thee say ; 

" My Savior hath his promise kept ; 
He comforts me ; — and yet I must 

"Weep on, — for Jesus wept." 



A CHERUB. 

Bishop Doane. 

•' Dear Sir : I am in some little disorder by reason of the death of a 
little child of mine, a boy that lately made us very glad ; but now he re- 
joices in his little orbe, while we thinke, and sigh, and long to be as safe 
as he is." — Jeremy Taylor to Evelyn, 1656. 

Beautiful thing, with thine eye of light, 
And thy brow of cloudless beauty bright, 
Gazing for aye on the sapphire throne 
Of Him who dwelleth in light alone, 
Art thou hasting now on that golden wing, 
With the burning seraph choir to sing ? 
Or stooping to earth, in thy gentleness, 
Our darkling path to cheer and bless ? 

Beautiful thing ! thou art come in love, 
"With gentle gales from the world above, 
Breathing of pureness, breathing of bliss, 
Bearing our spirits away from this 
To the better thoughts, to the brighter skies, 
Where heaven's eternal sunshine lies, 



! 



HOPE. 163 

Winning our hearts by a blessed guile, 
With that infant look and angel smile. 

Beautiful thing ! thou art come in joy, 

With the look, with the voice, of our darling boy ; 

Him that was torn from the bleeding hearts 

He had twined about with his infant arts, 

To dwell from sin and sorrow far, 

In the golden orb of his little star. 

Here he rejoiceth in light, while we 

Long to be happy and safe as he. 

Beautiful thing ! thou art come in peace, 
Bidding our doubts and our fears to cease, 
Wiping the tears which unbidden start 
From the bitter fount in the broken heart, 
Cheering us still on our lonely way, 
Lest our hearts should faint or our feet should stray, 
Till risen with Christ we at last shall be, 
Beautiful thing, with our boy and thee ! 



HOPE. 

Bishop Heber. 

Reflected on the lake I love 
To see the stars of evening glow, 
So tranquil in the heaven above, 
So restless in the wave below. 



164 IN AFFLICTIONS LOOK TO THE SAVIOR, 

Thus heavenly hope is all serene ; 

But earthly hope, how bright soe'er, 
Still flutters o'er the changing scene 

As false, as fleeting, as 'tis fair. 



IN AFFLICTIONS LOOK TO THE SAVIOR. 

Flatel. 

In all the troubles and afflictions that befall you, eye 
Jesus Christ. Afflictions rise not out of the dust, nor 
do they befall you casually ; but he raises them up, and 
gives them their commission : " Behold, I create evil, 
and devise a device against you." (Jer. xviii. 11.) He 
selects the instrument of your trouble ; he makes the 
rod as afflictive as he pleaseth ; he orders the continu- 
ance and end of your troubles ; and they will not 
cease to be afflictive to you till Christ say, Leave off ; it 
is enough. His wisdom shines out many ways in them. 
It is evident in choosing such kinds of trouble for you 
as are best adapted to purge out the corruption that 
predominates in you ; in the degree of your troubles, 
suffering them to work to such a height as to reach 
their end, but no higher, lest they overwhelm you. 
0, think, If the devil had the mixing of my cup, how 
much more bitter would he make it! There would 
not be one drop of mercy in it ; but here is much 
mercy mixed with my troubles. There is mercy in 
this, that it is no worse. Am I afflicted ? It is of the 



A mother's lament. 165 

Lord's mercy I am not consumed, (Lam. iii. 22 ;) it 
might have been hell instead of this chastisement. 
There is mercy in his supports under it ; I might have 
been left, as others have been, to sink and perish under 
my burdens. Mercy in deliverance out of it ; this 
might have been everlasting darkness, that should 
never have had a morning. the tenderness of 
Christ to his afflicted ! 



A MOTHER'S LAMENT, 

ON THE DEATH OF HER INFANT DAUGHTER. 

Montgomery. 

I loved thee, daughter of my heart ; 

My child, I loved thee dearly ; 
And though we only met to part, 

How sweetly ! how severely ! 
Nor life nor death can sever 
My soul from thine forever. 

Thy days, my little one, were few ; 

An angel's morning visit, 
That came and vanished with the dew ; 

'Twas here, 'tis gone — where is it? 
Yet didst thou leave behind thee 
A clew for love to find thee. 



166 a mother's lament. 

The eye, the lip, the cheek, the brow, 
The hands stretched forth in gladness, 

All life, joy, rapture, beauty now, 
Then dashed with infant sadness ; 

Till, brightening by transition, 

Keturned the fairy vision. 

Where are they now — those smiles, those tears, 
Thy mother's darling treasure ? 

She sees them still, and still she hears 
Thy tones of pain or pleasure, 

To her quick pulse revealing 

Unutterable feeling. 

Hushed in a moment on her breast, 
Life at the wellspring drinking ; 

Then cradled on her lap to rest, 
In rosy slumber sinking : 

Thy dreams — no thought can guess them ; 

And mine — no tongue express them. 

For then this waking eye could see, 

In many a vain vagary, 
The things that never were to be, 

Imaginations airy, 
Fond hopes that mothers cherish, 
Like stillborn babes to perish. 

Mine perished on thy early bier ; 

No — changed to forms more glorious, 
They flourish in a higher sphere, 

O'er time and death victorious ; 






SUBMISSION TO GOD IN TRIBULATION. 167 

Yet would these arms have chained thee, 
And long from heaven detained thee. 

Sarah, my last, my youngest love, 

The crown of every other, 
Though thou art born in heaven above, 

I am thine only mother ; 
Nor will affection let me 
Believe thou canst forget me. 

Then — thou in heaven and I on earth — 

May this one hope delight us, 
That thou wilt hail my second birth, 

When death shall reunite us, 
Where worlds no more can sever 
Parent and child forever. 



SUBMISSION TO GOD IN THE HOUR OF 
TRIBULATION. 

Thomas a Kempis. 

Possess thy soul in patience, and comfort will arrive 
in its proper season. Wait for me ; and, if I come not, 
wait ; for I will at length come, and " will not tarry." 
That which afflicts thee is a trial for thy good ; and 
that which terrifies thee is a false and groundless fear. 
. . . " Let not thy heart be troubled, neither let it 
be afraid." " Believe in me," whose redeeming power 



168 SUBMISSION TO GOD IN TRIBULATION. 

has " overcome the world/ 7 and place all thy confidence 
in my mercy. I am often nearest thee when thou 
thinkest me at the greatest distance ; and when thou 
hast given up all as lost in darkness, the light of peace 
is ready to break upon thee. All is not lost when thy 
situation happens to be contrary to thy own narrow 
and selfish judgment. It is injurious to thy peace to 
determine what will be thy future condition by argu- 
ing from present perceptions, and it is sinful to suffer 
thy spirit to be so overwhelmed by trouble, as if all 
hope of emerging from it was utterly taken away 
Think not thyself condemned to total dereliction when 1 1 
I permit tribulation to come upon thee for a season, or i 
suspend the consolations which thou art always fondly 
desiring ; for this is the narrow way to the kingdom of 
heaven ; and it is more expedient for my servants to 
be exercised with many sufferings, than to enjoy that 
perpetual rest and delight which they would choose for 
themselves. I, who know the hidden thoughts of thy 
heart, and the depth of the evil that is in it, know that 
thy salvation depends upon thy being sometimes left in 
the full perception of thy own impotence and wretch- 
edness ; lest, in the undisturbed prosperity of the spir- 
itual life, thou shouldst exalt thyself for what is not 
thy own, and take complacence in vain conceit of per- 
fection, to which man of himself cannot attain. The 
good I bestow I can both take away and restore again. 
When I have bestowed it, it is still mine ; and when I 
resume it, I take not away that which is thine ; for there 
is no good of which I am not the principle and centre. 
When, therefore, I visit thee with adversity, murmur 
not, neither let thy heart be troubled ; for I can soon 



TO AN INFANT IN HEAVEN. 169 

restore thee to light and peace, and change thy heavi- 
ness into joy ; but in all my dispensations, acknowl- 
edge that I, the Lord, am righteous, and greatly to be 
praised. If thou wert wise, and didst behold thyself 
and thy fallen state by that light with which I, who 
am the truth, enlighten thee, instead of grieving and 
murmuring at the adversities which befall thee, thou 
wouldst rejoice and give thanks ; nay, thou wouldst 
" count it all joy thus to endure chastening." I once 
said to the disciples whom I chose to attend my minis- 
try upon earth, " As the Father hath loved me, so have 
il loved you ; " and I sent them forth into the world, 
not to luxury, but to conflict ; not to honor, but to con- 
tempt ; not to amusement, but to labor ; not to take re- 
pose, but to " bring forth much fruit with patience." 



TO AN INFANT IN HEAVEN, 

Thomas Ward. 

Thou bright and star-like spirit, 
That, in my visions wild, 

I see, ? mid heaven's seraphic host, 
0, canst thou be my child ? 

My grief is quenched in wonder, 
And pride arrests my sighs ; 

A branch from this unworthy stock 
Now blossoms in the skies. 
15 



170 TO AN INFANT IN HEAVEN. 

Our hopes of thee were lofty ; 

But have we cause to grieve ? 
0, could our fondest, proudest wish 

A nobler fate conceive ? — 

The little weeper tearless, 
The sinner snatched from sin, 

The babe to more than manhood grown 
Ere childhood did begin ? 

And I, thy earthly teacher, 

Would blush thy powers to see ; 

Thou art to me a parent now, 
And I a child to thee. 

What bliss is born of sorrow ! 

7 Tis never sent in vain ; 
The heavenly Surgeon maims to save ; 

He gives no useless pain. 

Our God, to call us homeward, 

His only Son sent down ; 
And now, still more to tempt our hearts, 

Has taken up our own. 



GOD THE ONLY SUPPORT AND CONSOLATION. 171 



GOD THE ONLY SOURCE OF ALL SUPPORT 
AND CONSOLATION. 

Drelincourt. 

The only source of all our consolation is God's gra- 
cious promise to help us in time of need. Engrave in 
the bottom of your hearts these divine sayings : When 
he that hath set his love upon me shall call upon me, 
I will answer him : I will be with him in trouble ; I will 
deliver him, and honor him. The Lord knoweth how 
to deliver the godly out of temptations. He is rich 
unto all that call upon him. He is nigh unto all them 
that call upon him, to all that call upon him in truth. 
He fulfils the desires of the humble, he hears their cry. 
Many are the afflictions of the righteous ; but the Lord 
delivereth him out of them all. Call upon me, saith 
he, in the day of trouble ; I will deliver thee, and thou 
shalt glorify me. The tenderness of God's love accom- 
panies the glory of his majesty. He is the Father of 
mercies, and the God of all comfort, who comforteth us 
in all our tribulation. He is that bosom Friend who loveth 
at all times, as it were a brother who is born for ad- 
versity. He is at once the King of kings, and our most 
cordial Friend. He enters into the house of mourning, 
and is nigh unto every broken heart and contrite spirit. 
The lower our estate is, the more he remembereth us. 
Shall thy God, who loves thee more cordially and with 



172 god's kind care of us. 

a more unalterable love than tlie best of fathers, or 
the most tender-hearted mother, forsake thee in the 
day of affliction ? This merciful and compassionate 
Father, who took thee into his protection when thou 
earnest into the world, and hath administered to all 
thy necessities, shall he refuse thee his gracious suc- 
cor in this thy utmost extremity? He who hath 
crowned thy youthful days with his divine blessings 
will not cast thee off when thy strength faileth. 



GOD'S KIND CARE OP US. 

Francis Qtjarles. 

Even as a nurse, whose child's imperfect pace 
Can hardly lead his foot from place to place, 
Leaves her fond kissing, sets him down to go, 
Nor does uphold him for a step or two, 
But when she finds that he begins to fall, 
She holds him up, and kisses him withal, — 
So God from man sometimes withdraws his hand 
A while, to teach his infant faith to stand ; 
But when he sees his feeble strength begin 
To fail, he gently takes him up again. 



THE FADED ONE. 173 



THE FADED ONE. 

Willis Gaylord Clark. 

Gone to the slumber which may know no waking 

Till the loud requiem of the world shall swell ; 
Gone where no sound thy still repose is breaking, 

In a lone mansion through long years to dwell ; 
Where the sweet gales that herald bud and blossom 

Pour not their music nor their fragrant breath, — 
A seal is set upon thy budding bosom, 

A bond of loneliness — a spell of death. 

Yet 'twas but yesterday that all before thee 

Shone in the freshness of life's morning hours ; 
Joy's radiant smile was playing briefly o'er thee, 

And thy light feet impressed but vernal flowers. 
The restless spirit charmed thy sweet existence, 

Making all beauteous in Youth's pleasant maze, 
While gladsome Hope illumed the onward distance, 

And lit with sunbeams thy expectant days. 

How have the garlands of thy childhood withered, 

And Hope's false anthem died upon the air ! 
Death's cloudy tempests o'er thy way have gathered, 

And his stern bolts have burst in fury there. 
On thy pale forehead sleeps the shade of even ; 

Youth's braided wreath lies stained in sprinkled dust ; 
Yet, looking upward in its grief to Heaven, 

Love should not mourn thee, save in hope and trust. 
15* 



174 THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS. 



THE DEATH OP THE FLOWERS. 

William Cullen Bryant. 

The melancholy days are come, 

The saddest of the year, 
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, 

And meadows brown and sear. 
Heaped in the hollows of the grove, 

The withered leaves lie dead ; 
They rustle to the eddying gust, 

And to the rabbit's tread. 
The robin and the wren are flown, 

And from the shrubs the jay, 
And from the wood top caws the crow, 

Through all the gloomy day. 

Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers. 

That lately sprang and stood 
In brighter light and softer airs, 

A beauteous sisterhood ? 
Alas ! they all are in their graves ; 

The gentle race of flowers 
Are lying in their lowly beds, 

With the fair and good of ours. 
The rain is falling where they lie, 

But the cold November rain 
Calls not from out the gloomy earth 

The lonely ones again. 



, 



THE DEATH OP THE FLOWERS. 175 

The windflower and the violet, 

They perished long ago, 
And the brierrose and the orchis died 

Amid the summer glow ; 
But on the hill the goldenrod, 

And the aster in the wood, 
And the yellow sunflower by the brook 

In autumn beauty stood, 
Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, 

As falls the plague on men, 
And the brightness of their smile was gone, 

From upland, glade, and glen. 

And now, when comes the calm, mild day, — 

As still such days will come, — 
To call the squirrel and the bee 

Prom out their winter home ; 
When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, 

Though all the trees are still, 
And twinkle in the smoky light 

The waters of the rill ; 
The south wind searches for the flowers 

Whose fragrance late he bore, 
And sighs to find them in the wood 

And by the streams no more. 

And then I think of one who in 

Her youthful beauty died, 
The fair, meek blossom that grew up 

And faded by my side ; 
In the cold, moist earth we laid her, 

When the forest cast the leaf, 



176 A DIRGE. 

And we wept that one so lovely 

Should have a life so brief : 
Yet not unmeet it was that one 

Like that young friend of ours, 
So gentle and so beautiful, 

Should perish with the flowers. 

" There is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it will sprout again, and 
that the tender branches thereof will not cease. Though the root thereof 
wax old in the earth, and the stock thereof die in the ground, yet, through 
the scent of water, it will bud, and bring forth boughs like a plant. But 
man dieth, and wasteth away ! yea, man giveth up the ghost, and where 
is he ? As the waters fail from the sea, and the flood decayeth and drieth 
up, so man lieth down, and riseth not : till the heavens be no more, they 
shall not awake, nor be raised out of their sleep." — Job xiv. 

" I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which 
are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope. For if 
we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also which sleep in 
Jesus will God bring with him. . . . For the Lord himself shall de- 
scend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with 
the trump of God ; and the dead in Christ shall rise first." — 1 Thessa- 
LONIANS, iv. 



A DIRGE. 

Mrs. Hemans 



Weep for the early lost ! — 
How many flowers were mingled in the crown 
Thus, with the lovely, to the grave gone down, 

E'en when life promised most ! 
How many hopes have withered! They that bow 
To Heaven's dread will feel all its mysteries now. 



A DIRGE. 177 

Did the young mother's eye 
Behold her child, and close upon the day, 
Ere from its glance th' awakening spirit's ray 

In sunshine could reply ? 
— Then look for clouds to dim the fairest morn ! 
0, strong is faith, if woe like this be borne. 

For there is hushed on earth 
A voice of gladness — there is veiled a face, 
Whose parting leaves a dark and silent place 

By the once joyous hearth. 
A smile hath passed, which filled its home with light, 
A soul, whose beauty made that smile so bright ! 

But there is power with faith ! 
Power, e'en though nature o'er th' untimely grave 
Must weep, when God resumes the gem he gave ; 

For sorrow comes of death, 
And with a yearning heart we linger on, 
When they whose glance unlocked its founts are 
gone. 

But glory from the dust, 
And praise to Him, the merciful, for those 
On whose bright memory love may still repose, 

With an immortal trust ; 
Praise for the dead, who leave us, when they part, 
Such hope as she hath left — "the pure in heart." 



178 THE LIGHT ABOVE US. 



THE LIGHT ABOVE US. 

Life of Madame Guyon. 

There is a light in yonder skies, 
A light unseen by outward eyes ; 
But clear and bright to inward sense 
It shines — the star of Providence. 

The radiance of the central throne, 
It comes from God, and God alone — 
The ray that never yet grew pale, 
The star that " shines within the veil. 77 

And faith, unchecked by earthly fears, 
Shall lift its eye, though filled with tears, 
And while around 'tis dark as night, 
Untired shall mark that heavenly light. 



THE VOICE OF THE ROD. 179 



THE VOICE OP THE ROD. 

Rey. Thomas Brooks. 

As the word hath a voice, the Spirit a voice, and 
conscience a voice, so the rod hath a voice. Afflictions 
are the rod of God's anger, the rod of his displeasure, 
and his rod of revenge : he gives a commission to this 
rod to awaken, to reform his people, or else to revenge 
the quarrel of his covenant upon them, if they will 
not hear, and kiss the rod, and sit mute and silent un- 
der it. " The Lord's voice crieth unto the city, and 
the man of wisdom shall see thy name ; hear ye the 
rod, and who hath appointed it." (Mic. iv. 9.) God's 
rods are not mutes ; they are speaking as well as 
smiting ; every twig hath a voice. Ah, soul, saith 
one twig, thou sayest it smarts ; well, tell me, is it 
good provoking a jealous God ? (Jer. iv. 18.) Ah, soul, 
saith another twig, thou sayest it is bitter, it reacheth 
to thy heart ; but hath not thine own doings pro- 
cured these things? (Rom. iv. 21.) Ah, soul, saith 
another twig, where is the profit, the pleasure, that 
you have found in wandering from God? (Hos. iii. 
7.) Ah, soul, saith another twig, was it not best 
with you when you were high in your communion 
with God, and humble and close in your walking 
with God? (Mic. iv. 8.) Ah, Christian, saith another 
twig, wilt thou search thy heart, and try thy ways, 



180 THE VOICE OF THE ROD. 

and turn to the Lord thy God ? (Lam. iii. 40.) Ah, 
soul, saith another twig, wilt thou die to sin more 
than ever? (Rom. xiv. 7, 8 ;) and to the world more 
than ever ? (Gal. vi. 14 ;) and to relations more than 
ever, and to thyself more than ever ? Ah, soul, saith 
another twig, wilt thou live more to Christ, and cleave 
closer to Christ, and prize Christ more, and venture 
further for Christ than ever ? Ah, soul, saith another 
twig, wilt thou love Christ with a more inflamed love, 
and hope in Christ with a more raised hope, and de- 
pend upon Christ with a greater confidence, and wait 
upon Christ with more invincible patience ? Now, if 
the soul be not mute and silent under the rod, how is it 
possible that it should ever hear the voice of the rod, or 
that it should ever hearken to the voice of every twig 
of the rod ? The rod hath a voice that is in the hands 
of earthly fathers ; but children understand it not, till 
they are hushed and quiet, and brought to kiss it, and 
sit silently under it : no more shall we hear or under- 
stand the voice of the rod that is in our heavenly 
Father's hand, till we come to kiss it, and sit silently 
under it. 



DIRGE. 181 



DIRGE. 

Miss Landon. 

Lay her in the gentle earth, 
Where the summer maketh mirth, 
Where young violets have birth, 

Where the lily bendeth. 
Lay her there, the lovely one, 
With the rose her funeral stone, 
And for tears such showers alone 

As the rain of April lendeth. 

Prom the midnight's quiet hour 
Will come dews of holy power 
O'er the sweetest human flower 

That was ever loved. 
But she was too fair and dear 
For our troubled pathway here ; 
Heaven, that was her natural sphere, 

Has its own removed. 



" We are forbidden to murmur, but we are not forbidden to regret ; and 
whom we love tenderly while living we may still pursue with an affec- 
tionate remembrance, without having any occasion to charge ourselves 
with rebellion against the sovereignty that appointed a separation." — 
Cowper. 

16 



182 0, STAY THOSE TEAKS. 



0, STAY THOSE TEARS. 

Andrews Norton. 

0, stay thy tears ! for they are blest 
Whose days are past, whose toil is done : 

Here midnight care disturbs our rest, 
Here sorrow dims the noonday sun. 

For laboring virtue's anxious toil, 

For patient sorrow's stifled sigh, 
For faith that marks the conqueror's spoil, 

Heaven grants the recompense — to die. 

How blest are they whose transient years 
Pass like an evening meteor's flight ! 

Not dark with guilt, nor dim with tears ; 
Whose course is short, unclouded, bright. 

How cheerless were our lengthened way, 

Did Heaven's own light not break the gloom. 

Stream downward from eternal day, 
And cast a glory round the tomb ! 

Then stay thy tears ; the blest above 
Have hailed a spirit's heavenly birth, 

Sung a new song of joy and love ; 

And why should anguish reign on earth ? 



A CONSOLATORY LETTER. 183 



A CONSOLATORY LETTER. 

Mrs. Isabella Graham. 

When the Christian suffers the loss of a near and dear friend, who, 
to his knowledge, has given no reasonable evidence of a hope in Christ, 
his case seems almost beyond the reach of consolation ; and, while feel- 
ing the bitterness of his twofold affliction, he is ready to exclaim, " My 
stroke is heavier than my groaning." The following letter, to a sadly- 
bereaved mother, from the pen of Mrs, Isabella Graham, is given for those 
suffering under such deep heart grief. 

There are cases to which God alone can speak ; 
afflictions which he alone can console. Such are those 
under which the sufferer is commanded to be " still 
and know that he is God. 77 He never leaves his 
people in any case, but sometimes shuts them up from 
human aid. Their grief is too great to be consoled 
by human tongue or pen. Such I have experienced. 
I lost my only son ; I neither know when nor where ; 
and, for any thing I know, in a state of rebellion 
against God. Here, at my heart, it lies still : who 
can speak to me of it? Neither can I reason upon 
it. Aaron held his peace. Old Eli said, " It is the 
Lord ; let him do what seemeth good in his sight." 
Samuel, in his turn, had his heart wrung by his un- 
godly son. David lamented over his beloved Absa- 
lom ; but it availed him nothing. Job's sons and 
daughters were all cut off in one day ; he himself lay 
in deep, sore, bodily affliction ; his friends sat seven 



184 A CONSOLATORY LETTER. 

days and seven nights without opening their mouths, 
because they saw his affliction was very great ; and if 
they spoke, it was to aggravate it ; and when God 
himself spoke, he gave him no reason for his dealings, 
but charged him with folly and madness. " Shall he 
that contend eth with the Almighty instruct him ? He 
that reproveth God, let him answer it." Then he laid 
his hand on his mouth, confessed himself vile, and 
became dumb before God ; abhorring himself, and re- 
penting in dust and ashes, instead of the splendid 
catalogue of virtues enumerated in chapter twenty- 
nine, and complaints in chapter ten, which I make 
not the least doubt were true, as far as human virtue 
can reach ; but if God charge " even his angels with 
folly/ 7 shall man, corrupt, self-destroyed man, plead 
merit before God ? 

But, my dear friend, I do not find in all God's 
Bible any thing requiring us to acquiesce in the final 
destruction of any for whom we have prayed, pleaded, 
and committed to him ; least of all our offspring, whom 
he has commanded us to train up for him. " Chil- 
dren are God's heritage." I do not say he has given 
us any promise for the obstinately wicked ; but when 
cut off, he only requires us to be still, to Mold our 
peace. I do not think he takes hope from us. God 
has set limits to our faith for others ; our faith must 
not rest in opposition to his threatenings. We must 
believe that "the wicked shall be turned into hell, 
and all that forget God ; " but he has set no bounds 
to his own mercy ; in that glorious plan of redemp- 
tion, by which he substitutes his own Son in the stead 
of sinners, he has made provision for the chief of 



A CONSOLATORY LETTER. 185 

sinners, and can now be just and consistent while he 
justifies the ungodly who believe in Jesus. Short was 
the time between the thief's petition and the promise 
of salvation ; nay, the petition was the earnest of it. 
The same was the case with the jailer ; I think, too, 
the publican had the earnest in his petition. Now, in- 
stead of laboring to bring my mind to acquiesce in the 
condemnation of my child, on the supposition of its 
being for God's glory, I try to be still, as he has com- 
manded ; not to follow my child to the yet invisible 
world ; but turning my eyes to that character which 
God has revealed of himself — to the plan of redemp- 
tion — to the sovereignty of God in the execution of 
that plan — to his names of grace, " The Lord, the 
Lord God, merciful and gracious, slow to anger, abun- 
dant in goodness and truth, forgiving iniquity, and 
transgression, and sin," while he adds, " and that will 
by no means clear the guilty," I meet it with his own 
declaration, " He hath made Him to be sin for us who 
knew no sin, that we might be made the righteousness 
of God in him." I read also that " mercy rejoiceth 
against judgment," and many other like Scriptures, 
which, although I dare not ground a belief of his sal- 
vation on them, afford one ray of hope after another, 
that God may have made him a monument of mercy to 
the glory of his grace. 

Thus God himself consoles his own praying people, 
while man ought to be very cautious, if not silent, 
where the Scriptures are silent, as it respects the final 
state of another, whose heart we cannot know, nor 
what God may have wrought in it. God hath set 
bounds to our faith, which can nowhere find solid 
16 * 



186 GOD A REFUGE IN TRIALS. 

ground to fix upon but on his own written promise. 
Yet, as I said above, he has set no bounds to his own 
mercy, and he has made provision for its boundless 
flow, as far as he shall please to extend it, through the 
atonement and merits of his own Son, " who is able to 
save to the uttermost all who come unto God by him. ? 
Now, my dear friend, you have my ideas of our situa- 
tion ; if they be correct, I pray that our compassionate 
Father may comfort you by them ; if otherwise, may he 
pardon what is amiss, and lead you and myself to such 
consolation as he himself will own as the work of his 
Spirit, and save us from the enemy of our own spirit. 



GOD A REFUGE IN TRIALS. 

Beddome. 

My times of sorrow and of joy, 
Great God, are in thy hand ; 

My choicest comforts come from thee, 
And go at thy command. 

If thou shouldst take them all away, 

Yet would I not repine ; 
Before they were possessed by me 

They were entirely thine. 

Nor would I drop a murmuring word, 
Though all the world were gone, 



REMINISCENCES. 187 

But seek enduring happiness 
In thee, and thee alone. 



" When thou art in tribulation, and all these things are come upon thee, 
even in the later days, if thou turn to the Lord thy God, and shalt be obe- 
dient unto his voice, (for the Lord thy God is a merciful God,) he will not 
forsake thee, neither destroy thee." — Deuteronomy iv. 



REMINISCENCES. 

Montgomery. 

Where are ye with whom in life I started, 
Dear companions of my golden days ? 

Ye are dead, estranged from me, or parted, 
Flown, like morning clouds, a thousand ways. 

"Where art thou, in youth my friend and brother, 
Yea, in soul my friend and brother still ? 

Heaven received thee, and on earth none other 
Can the void in this lorn bosom fill. 

Where is she whose looks were love and gladness ? 

Love and gladness I no longer see ! 
She is gone ; and since that hour of sadness, 

Nature seems her sepulchre to me. 

Where am I? — life's current, faintly flowing, 
Brings the welcome warning of release ; 

Struck with death, ah, whither am I going ? 
All is well — my spirit parts in peace. 



188 WEEP NOT FOR THE PAST. 



WEEP NOT FOR THE PAST. 

Rev. Rupus W, Griswold. 

Weep not for the past ; 'tis a dream that is fled ; 

Its sunshine has vanished, its garlands are dead ; 

Deep, deep in its shadows bright hopes are laid low ; 

0, call them not back to the land whence they go. 

They came as the light that may gleam from on high, 

From the wing of some spirit that passes us by, 

So gently, we deemed that the fetters of earth 

Had fallen away for a holier birth ; 

And they passed — but a voice lingers yet on the ear 

In accents that fall from some sunnier sphere, 

" Weep not, child of sorrow, for hopes that were thine ; 

Unblest are the gifts of an unhallowed shrine. 

Thy idol was earthly — thy life star has set J 

Bright stars are in heaven, that beam for thee yet ! n 

Weep not for the past, though it hold in its gloom 

Loved forms that have sunk to their rest in the tomb, 

Fond voices that rang in the laugh of the song, 

And faces that smiled as they flitted along ; 

0, call them not back ! for they went in their mirth, 

Ere their hearts had been chilled by one frost of this 

earth ; 
And 'tis sweet to lie down with the song yet unsung, 
And wake its first notes in a heavenly tongue ! 



CHRISTIAN RESIGNATION. 189 

Then yield not to sorrow ; life has not a day 
That gives not some sunbeam to lighten our way ; 
But cull from the past, from each blessing that dies, 
A gem to illumine the crown for the skies. 
The future is o'er us ; the present is ours, 
To shroud it in sadness, or gild it with flowers ; 
To sink on life's ocean, or find on its wave 
A halo that wakes e'en the gloom of the grave. 



CHRISTIAN RESIGNATION. 

Hannah More. 

The pagan philosophers have given many admirable 
precepts, both for resigning blessings and for sustain- 
ing misfortunes; but wanting the motives and sanc- 
tions of Christianity, though they excite much intel- 
lectual admiration, they produce little practical effect. 
The stars which glittered in their moral night, though 
bright, imparted no warmth. Their most beautiful 
dissertations on death had no charm to extract its 
sting. We receive no support from their most elab- 
orate treatises on immortality, for want of Him who 
"brought life and immortality to light.' 7 Their con- 
solatory discussion could not strip the grave of its 
terrors, for to them it was not " swallowed up in vic- 
I tory." To conceive of the soul as an immortal princi- 
ple, without proposing a scheme for the pardon of its 



190 CHRISTIAN RESIGNATION. 

sins, was but cold consolation. Their future state was 
but a happy guess, their heaven but a fortunate con- 
jecture. 

When we peruse their finest composition, we admire 
the manner in which the medicine is administered, but 
we do not find it effectual for the cure, nor even for 
the mitigation, of our disease. The beauty of the senti- 
ment we applaud, but our heart continues to ache. 
There is no healing balm in their elegant prescription. 
These four little words, " Thy will be done" contain a 
charm of more powerful efficacy than all the discipline 
of the stoic school ! They cut up a long train of clear 
but cold reasoning, and supersede whole volumes of 
argument on fate and necessity. 

What sufferer ever derived any ease from the subtile 
distinction of the hair-splitting casuist, who allowed 
" that pain was very, very troublesome," but resolved 
never to acknowledge it to be an evil ? . . . He 
does not directly say that pain is not an evil, but by a 
sophistical turn professes that philosophy will never 
confess it to be an evil. But what consolation does the 
sufferer draw from the quibbling nicety ? " What dif- 
ference is there/ 7 as Archbishop Tillotson well in- 
quires, " between things being troublesome and being 
evils, when all the evil of an affliction lies in the 
trouble it creates to us?" Christianity knows none 
of these fanciful distinctions. She never pretends to 
insist that pain is not an evil, but she does more ; she 
converts it into a good. Christianity, therefore, teaches 
a fortitude as much more noble than philosophy, as 
meeting pain with resignation to the hand that inflicts 
it is more heroic than denying it to be an evil. 



CHRISTIAN RESIGNATION. 191 

To submit on the mere human ground that there is 
no alternative is not resignation, but hopelessness. 
To bear affliction solely because impatience will not 
remove it is but an inferior, though a just reason for 
bearing it. It savors rather of despair than submis- 
sion when not sanctioned by a higher principle. " It 
is the Lord ; let him do what seemeth him good/ 7 is at 
once a motive of more powerful obligation than all 
the documents which philosophy ever suggested, a 
firmer ground of support than all the energies that 
natural fortitude ever supplied. 

Under any visitation, God permits us to think the 
affliction " not joyous, but grievous. 77 But though he 
allows us to feel, we must not allow ourselves to repine. 
There is a sort of heroism in bearing up against afflic- 
tion, which some adopt on the ground that it raises 
their character, and confers dignity on their suffering. 
This philosophic firmness is far from being the temper 
which Christianity inculcates. 

When we are compelled by the hand of God to en- 
lure sufferings, or driven by a conviction of the vanity 
3f the world to renounce its enjoyments, we must not 
Endure the one on the low principle of its being inevi- 
table ; nor, in flying from the other, must we retire to 
Ihe contemplation of our own virtues.* We must not, 
with a sullen intrepidity, collect ourselves into a cen- 
tre of our own — into a cold apathy to all without, and 
i proud approbation of all within. We must not con- 
tract our scattered faults into a sort of dignified self- 
shness, nor concentrate our feelings into a proud 
nagnanimity ; we must not adopt an independent rec- 
itude. A gloomy stoicism is not Christian heroism. 



192 CHRISTIAN RESIGNATION, 



A melancholy non-resistance is not Christian resig- 
nation. 

Nor must we indemnify ourselves for our outward 
self-control by secret murmurings. We may be ad- 
mired for our resolution in this instance, as for our 
generosity and disinterestedness in other instances ; 
but we deserve little commendation for whatever we 
give up, if we do not give up our own inclination. It 
is inward repining that we must endeavor to repress ; 
it is the discontent of the heart, the unexpressed, but 
not unfelt murmur, against which we must pray for 
grace and struggle for resistance. It is the hidden re- 
bellion of the will we must subdue, if we would submit 
as Christians. Nor must we justify our impatience by 
saying that, if our affliction did not disqualify us from 
being useful to our families, and active in the service 
of God, we could more cheerfully bear it. Let us 
rather be assured that it does not disqualify us for that 
duty which we most need, and to which God calls us 
by the very disqualification. In times of affliction we 
must summon all the fortitude of the rational being, all 
the resignation of the Christian. The principles we 
have been learning must now be made practical. The 
speculations we have admired we must now realize. 
All that we have been studying was in order to furnish 
materials for this grand exigency. All the strength we 
have been collecting must now be brought into action. 
We must now draw to a point all the scattered argu- 
ments, all the several motives, all the individual sup- 
ports, all the cheering promises of religion. We must 
exemplify all the rules we have given to others ; we 
must embody all the resolutions we have formed for 



CHRISTIAN RESIGNATION. 193 

ourselves ; we must reduce our precepts to experience ; 
we must pass from discourses on submission to its exer- 
cise ; from dissertations on suffering to sustaining it. 
We must recollect what we have said of the supports 
of faith and hope when our strength was in full vigor, 
when our heart was at ease, and our mind undisturbed. 
Let us collect all our mental strength. Let us implore 
the aid of holy hope and fervent faith, to show that re- 
ligion is not a beautiful theory, but a soul-sustaining 
truth. . . . The strongest faith is wanted in the 
hardest trials. Under those trials, to the confirmed 
Christian, the highest degree of grace is commonly im- 
parted. . . . 

The reflecting Christian will consider affliction the 
consequence and punishment of moral evil. He will 
mourn not only that he suffers pain, but because that 
pain is the effect of sin. If man had not sinned, he 
would not have suffered. Our merciful Father has 
no pleasure in the sufferings of his children ; he chas- 
tens them in love ; he never inflicts a stroke he could 
safely spare ; he inflicts it to purify as well as to pun- 
ish, to caution as well as to cure, to improve as well 
as to chastise. 

What a support to reflect that the Captain of our 
salvation was made perfect through sufferings ; that if 
we suffer with him, we shall also reign with him — which 
implies also the reverse, that if we do not suffer with 
him, we shall not reign with him ; that is, if we suffer 
merely because we cannot help it, without reference to 
him, without suffering for his sake and in his spirit ! 
If it be not sanctified suffering, it will avail but little. 
We shall not be paid for having suffered, as is the 
17 



194 CHRISTIAN RESIGNATION. 

creed of too many, but our meetness for the kingdom 
of glory will be increased if we suffer according to 
Ms will and after his example. . . . 

Under the most severe visitations, let us compare 
our own sufferings with the cup which our Redeemer 
dj*ank for our sakes — drank to avert the divine dis- 
pleasure from us. . . . He was deserted in his most 
trying hour ; deserted, probably, by those whose limbs, 
sight, life he had restored, whose souls he had come 
to save. We are surrounded by unwearied friends ; 
every pain is mitigated by sympathy. . . . When 
our souls are " exceeding sorrowful/ 7 our friends par- 
ticipate our sorrow — forsaking us not in our " agony," 
but sympathizing where they cannot relieve ! Besides 
this, we must acknowledge, with the penitent malefac- 
tor, " We indeed suffer justly, but this man hath done 
nothing amiss. 77 We suffer for our offences the inevi- 
table penalty of our fallen nature. He bore our sins, 
and those of the whole human race. Hence the heart- 
rending interrogation, "Is it nothing to you all, ye 
that pass by ? Behold and see if there be any sorrow 
like unto my sorrow, which is done unto me, where- 
with the Lord hath afflicted me in the day of his fierce 
anger. 77 How cheering to reflect that he not only suf- 
fered for us then, but is sympathizing with us now ! 
that " in all our afflictions he is afflicted 77 ! The ten- 
derness of the sympathy seems to add a value to the 
sacrifice, while the vastness of the sacrifice endears 
the sympathy by ennobling it. 

How many motives has the Christian to restrain his 
murmurs ! Murmuring offends God, both as it is in- 
jurious to his goodness, and as it perverts the occasion 



RESIGNATION. 195 

which God has now offered for giving an example of 
patience. Let us not complain that we have nothing 
to do when we are furnished with the opportunity, as 
well as called to the duty, of resignation ; the duty, 
indeed, is always ours, but the occasion is now more 
eminently given. Let us not say, even in this de- 
pressed state, that we have nothing to be thankful 
for. 



RESIGNATION. 

H. W. Longfellow. 

There is no flock, however watched and tended, 

But one dead lamb is there ; 
There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, 

But has one vacant chair. 

The air is full of farewells to the dying, 

And mournings for the dead : 
The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, 

Will not be comforted. 

Let us be patient : these severe afflictions 

Not from the ground arise, 
But oftentimes celestial benedictions 

Assume this dark disguise. 






196 RESIGNATION. 

We see but dimly through the mists and vapors ; 

Amid these earthly damps, 
What seem to us but dim funereal tapers 

May be heaven's distant lamps. 

There is no death : what seems so is transition : 

This life of mortal breath 
Is but a suburb of the life elysian, 

Whose portals we call death. 

She is not dead, — the child of our affection, — 

But gone unto that school 
Where she no longer needs our poor protection, 

And Christ himself doth rule. 

In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion, 

By guardian angels led, 
Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, 

She lives whom we call dead. 

Day after day we think what she is doing 

In those bright realms of air ; 
Year after year her tender steps pursuing, 

Behold her grown more fair. 

Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken 

The bond which nature gives, 
Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken, 

May reach her where she lives. 

Not as a child shall we again behold her ; 
For when, with raptures wild, 



RESIGNATION. 197 

In our embraces we again infold her, 
She will not be a child. 

But a fair maiden in her Father 's mansion, 

Clothed with celestial grace, 
And beautiful with all the soul's expansion 

Shall we behold her face. 

And though at times, impetuous with emotion, 

And anguish long suppressed, 
The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean 

That cannot be at rest, — 

We will be patient, and assuage the feeling 

We cannot wholly stay ; 
By silence sanctifying, not concealing, 

The grief that must have way. 



"There is an immeasurable distance between submission to the cross 
and acceptance of it. Simon the Cyrenian compelled to bear it, and 
Paul glorying in his infirmities that the power of Christ might rest on him, 
are the representatives of two classes whom man may confound, but who 
are severally discerned of God. The one bends in silent acquiescence 
beneath the burden that a stronger hand has fixed beyond his power to 
shake off ; the other regards his affliction as a Heaven-appointed means of 
bringing him to a fuller participation in what Christ's sufferings have pur- 
chased for him — even that strength proportioned to his day which is 
doubly precious as being a fulfilled promise." — Charlotte Elizabeth. 

17* 



198 A BELIEF IN A SUPERINTENDING PROVIDENCE. 



A BELIEF IN A SUPERINTENDING PROVIDENCE THE 
ONLY ADEQUATE SUPPORT UNDER AFFLICTION. 

Wordsworth. 

One adequate support 
For the calamities of mortal life 
Exists, one only — an assured belief 
That the procession of our fate, howe'er 
Sad or disturbed, is ordered by a Being 
Of infinite benevolence and power ; 
"Whose everlasting purposes embrace 
All accidents, converting them to good. 
The darts of anguish fix not where the seat 
Of suffering hath been thoroughly fortified 
By acquiescence in the Will Supreme, 
For time and for eternity ; by faith, 
Faith absolute in God, including hope, 
And the defence that lies in boundless love 
Of his perfections ; with habitual dread 
Of aught unworthily conceived, endured 
Impatiently ; ill done, or left undone, 
To the dishonor of his holy name. 
Soul of our souls, and safeguard of the world, 
Sustain — thou only canst — the sick of heart ; 
Kestore their languid spirits, and recall 
Their lost affections unto thee and thine ! 



A BELIEF IN A SUPERINTENDING PROVIDENCE. 199 

? Tis, by comparison, an easy task 

Earth to despise ; but to converse with Heaven — 

This is not easy : to relinquish all 

We have, or hope, of happiness and joy, 

And stand in freedom loosened from this world, 

I deem not arduous ; but must needs confess 

That 'tis a thing impossible to frame 

Conceptions equal to the soul's desires, 

And the most difficult of tasks to keep 

Heights which the soul is competent to gain. 

Man is of dust ; ethereal hopes are his, 

Which, when they should sustain themselves aloft, 

Want due consistence ; like a pillar of smoke, 

That with majestic energy from earth 

Rises, but, having reached the thinner air, 

Melts, and dissolves, and is no longer seen. 

From this infirmity of mortal kind 

Sorrow proceeds, which else were not ; at least, 

If grief be something hallowed and ordained, 

If, in proportion, it be just and meet, 

Through this, 'tis able to maintain its hold, 

In that excess which conscience disapproves. 

For who could sink and settle to that point 

Of selfishness ? so senseless who could be 

In framing estimates of loss and gain, 

As long and perseveringly to mourn 

For any object of his love, removed 

From this unstable world, if he could fix 

A satisfying view upon that state 

Of pure, imperishable blessedness, 

Which reason promises and holy writ 

Insures to all believers ? Yet mistrust 



200 A BELIEF IN A SUPERINTENDING PROVIDENCE. 

Is of such incapacity, methinks, 

No natural branch ; despondency far less. 

And, if there be whose tender frames have drooped 

Even to the dust, apparently, through weight 

Of anguish unrelieved, and lack of power 

An agonizing sorrow to transmute, 

Infer not hence a hope from those withheld 

When wanted most ; a confidence impaired 

So pitiably, that, having ceased to see 

With bodily eyes, they are borne down by love 

Of what is lost, and perish through regret. 

0, no ; full oft the innocent sufferer sees 
Too clearly, feels too vividly, and longs 
To realize the vision with intense 

And over-constant yearning ; there, there lies 
The excess, by which the balance is destroyed. 
Too, too contracted are these walls of flesh, 
This vital warmth too cold, these visual orbs, 
Though inconceivably endowed, too dim 
For any passion of the soul that leads 
To ecstasy ; and, all the crooked paths 
Of time and change disdaining, takes its course 
Along the line of limitless desires. 

1, speaking now from such disorder free, 
Nor rapt, nor craving, but in settled peace, 
I cannot doubt that they whom you deplore 
Are glorified ; or, if they sleep, shall wake 
Prom sleep, and dwell with God in endless love. 
Hope, below this, consists not with belief 

In mercy, carried infinite degrees 
Beyond the tenderness of human hearts : 
Hope, below this, consists not with belief 



REASONS AGAINST IMMODERATE SORROW. 201 

Iu perfect wisdom, guiding mightiest power, 
That finds no limits but her own pure will. 

But, above all, the victory is most sure 

For him who, seeking faith by virtue, strives 

To yield entire submission to the law 

Of conscience ; conscience reverenced and obeyed 

As God's most intimate presence in the soul, 

And his most perfect image in the world. 

Endeavor thus to live ; these rules regard ; 

These helps solicit ; and a steadfast seat 

Shall then be yours among the happy few 

Who dwell on earth, yet breathe empyreal air, — 

Sons of the morning. For your nobler part, 

Ere disencumbered of her mortal chains, 

Doubt shall be quelled, and trouble chased away ; 

With only such degree of sadness left 

As may support longings of pure desire, 

And strengthen love, rejoicing secretly 

In the sublime attractions of the grave. 



REASONS AGAINST IMMODERATE SORROW. 

Simon Patrick, D. D. 

For whose sake dost thou weep ? For the sake of 

him that is dead, or for thy own ? Not for him that 

i is dead, sure, for we suppose him to be happy. Is it 

reasonable to say, Ah me, what shall 1^ do ? I have 



202 SEASONS AGAINST IMMODERATE SORROW. 

lost a dear friend that shall eat and drink no more. 
Alas ! he shall never hunger again ; never be sick 
again ; never be vexed and troubled ; and, which is 
more, he shall never die again. Yet this is the fran- 
tic language of our tears, if we weep for the sake of 
him that is gone. Suppose thy friend should come to 
thee, and shake thee by the hand, and say, My good 
friend, why dost thou lament, and afflict thy soul ? I 
am gone to the paradise of God, a sight most beautiful 
to be beheld, and more rare to be enjoyed. To that 
paradise am I flown, where there is nothing but joy 
and triumph, nothing but friendship and endless love. 
There am I, where the Head of us all is, and where we 
enjoy the light of his most blessed face. I would not 
live, if I might, again ; no, not for the love of thee. I 
have no such affection to thy society — once most dear 
unto me — that I would exchange my present com- 
pany to hold commerce with thee. But do thou 
rather come hither as soon as thou canst. And bid 
thy friends that they mourn not for thee when thou 
diest, unless they would wish thee to be miserable 
again. 

If we should have such a short converse with one 
of our acquaintance, what should we think? what 
should we say ? Should we fall a mourning and cry- 
ing again ? Would it open a new sluice for our tears 
to flow out ? Would we pray him to go to heaven 
no more, but stay with us ? Would we entreat him to 
beg of God that he might come and comfort us? If 
not, then let us be well content, unless we can give 
a better reason for our immoderate tears than our love 
to him. 



REASONS AGAINST IMMODERATE SORROW. 203 

Holcotk* reports of a learned man that was found 
dead in his study with his book before hirn : a friend 
of his was exceedingly amazed at the sight when he 
first came into the room ; but when he looked a little 
further, he found his fore finger pointing at this place 
in the Book of Wisdom, chapter 4, verse 7 : " But 
though the righteous be prevented with death, yet 
shall he be in rest." And when he observed this, he 
was as much comforted as he was before dejected. 
"We have no reason to lament them who are made im- 
mortal, and that live with God. If we respect them 
only, we should carry them forth as the Egyptians did 
the great prophet of Isis when he died,f not with 
howlings and sorrow, but with hymns and joy, as being 
made an heir with our betters, and gone to possess most 
glorious things. 

The truth of it is, if it were rational love to him 
that expresseth these tears, then we should not begin 
them so soon, nor make such a noise, nor cry, when 
men are dying. For the sad countenances and the 
miserable lamentations wherewith we encompass sick 
men's beds make death seem more frightful to them 
than it is in itself. What misery am I falling into — 
may a man think — that causes them to make such a 
moan ? What is this death, that makes even them look 
so ghastly who are not like to die? What a mis- 
chief is it to leave so many sad hearts behind me, and 
to go myself — it should seem by them — to some sad 
and dismal place also ! I tell you, a dying man had 
need have a double courage to look both death and 
them in the faces, or else their indiscrete shrieks and 

* In 4 Sap. 5, 7. f Heloid. 1, 7, ^Sthiop. 



204 REASONS AGAINST IMMODERATE SORROW. 

lamentations will make a poor soul fall into such dark 
and cloudy thoughts. Men are fain, therefore, to say 
that it is indeed love to themselves that forces them 
thus to bemoan the death of their friends. But what 
are you, that cannot be contented one should be made 
much better by making of you a little worse ? Is this 
the great love you pretend to your friend, that you are 
extremely sorry he is gone to heaven. Are you a 
friend, that look more at your own small benefit than 
at his great gain ? Was he not much beholden to you 
for your love, that would have had him lived till you were 
dead, that he might have been so miserable in mourning 
for you, as you think now yourselves to be ? . . . 

But how doth it appear that mere self-love is the 
original of these tears ? Suppose this person to have 
been at so wide a distance from us for a year or two, 
that no tidings of him could come to us. Did we weep 
and lament all that while because he was not with us ? 
Did not the thoughts that he lived, and hopes to see 
him again, comfort us ? And yet, was he not then in a 
manner dead, when we neither saw, nor felt, nor heard 
from him? What help did we receive from him at 
that distance ? or wherein did he pleasure us ? If we 
did not account ourselves so miserable all that time as 
to spend it in tears, we ought not to do it now. We 
are now as we were then ; in all things the very same, 
save only in the knowledge that he is dead. But 
was he not dead, as I said, to us before ? Was he not 
like a man in another world ? What was there that 
he did for us which we do not now receive at his 
hands ? Let us be as quiet now as we would have 
been on such an occasion ; especially since we know 



REASONS AGAINST IMMODERATE SORROW. 205 

our friend still lives, and we have hope to see him 
again. Natural affection, I confess, in either case will 
make us big with sighs, and burst forth often into tears. 
We feel we are not as we were before. There is some- 
thing wanting which we formerly enjoyed. And it is 
an old friend, perhaps, which nature cannot but be 
loath to part withal. Get a new nature, then, and that 
will mend all. Though the first motions be so free 
that they owe no tribute to reason, yet, when they 
come, we shall be careful not to follow them ; if we do, 
it will not be very far. Religion and reason, if we 
hearken to them, will teach us to restrain ourselves. 
" Religion/ 7 as a great person speaks, " will not suffer 
us not to will what God wills. And reason will teach 
us to bear those things with an equal mind which do 
not happen to us alone, and which we cannot by all 
our tears make not to have happened. " They will not 
let us expect that time should take away this sickness 
from us. That is the remedy of vulgar spirits : Sapi- 
entis est, tempus ipsum antevenire, et dolori ipsi nascenti oc- 
currere — it is the part of a wise man to outstrip time, 
and get before it ; to prevent a grief that is growing, 
and strangle it in the very birth. And, indeed, from 
hence we conclude that it is not mere natural affection 
either to which we commonly owe our sadness and 
sorrows, but the freshness and presence of the cause 
! of them. For time, as was said, will make us forget 
them ; or if our parents had died a little after we were 
born, we should never have wept, when we came of age, 
to think that they were departed. It is no hard mat- 
ter, then, for a considerate person to cease his grief 
seeing it depends upon such small causes. And if one 
18 



206 REASONS AGAINST IMMODERATE SORROW. 

shall say that it is love to the good of the world that 
makes him mourn for the loss of a useful person, he 
hath reason to rejoice that he loves the good of men 
so much. For then he will labor to do much good in 
the world himself ; and he will persuade all the friends 
he hath remaining, that they would do all the good 
they can, and repair that loss. 

If he were a good man, then thou needest not mourn 
now, for thou mayst hope to see him again, if thou art 
good. Thus thou mayst comfort thyself : My friend is 
not gone, but gone before. He is separated from us, 
but not lost. He is absent, but not dead. He. hath 
taken a journey into a far country, and there I may go 
to see him. What matter is it whether my friend re- 
turn to me, or I go to him ? None but this — that if 
he be in a better place, then it is better that I go to 
see him than that he come to see me. Should we not 
desire to be better ourselves, and not to have him made 
worse ? Then let us contentedly follow as fast as we 
can, hoping there where he is to embrace again. We 
cannot expect him in our house, but he expects us in 
his. He cannot come down to us, but we may go up 
to him. He cannot come back, but we may -follow 
after. And there is no difference, as I said, between 
his visiting of us at our home, and our going to see 
him at his, but only this — that it is a great deal better 
for us to see him there where he is, and not where we 
are now ourselves. Let us not mourn, therefore, for 
that which cannot be, but rejoice for that which may 
and will be. And let it comfort us that we shall come 
together again, but in a better place than we would 
have it ; we shall have our desires fulfilled, but in a 



KEASONS AGAINST IMMODERATE SORROW. 207 

more excellent manner than we desire. And if, in the 
mean time, he can do us any good, we may be sure that 
we shall not want it. . . . Think, then, of the time 
past, and rejoice that thou didst find so sweet a friend. 
Imagine not how long thou mightst have enjoyed him, 
but think how long thou didst. It was but natural 
to lose him ; but it was supernatural to enjoy him. All 
men are born to die, but all men are not born to live 
so long before they die. All men have acquaintance, 
but all men have not friends. Therefore he that hath 
a friend, and hath him so long, is to acknowledge that 
God is very much his Friend. He was not ours, but 
was given us by God ; or rather, he was not given, but 
only lent. We had not the propriety, but only the use. 
We have not lost any thing that was our own, but only 
restored that which was another's. And, therefore, 
now that he is taken away, we are not to be angry that 
God requires his own, but to be thankful that he hath 
lent us so long that which was none of our own. And 
assure yourselves there is nothing more unreasonable 
than to mourn that God gave us a thing no longer, 
and not to rejoice that he gave us that which is so de- 
sirable at all. Cease your tears, I beseech you, unless 
you will show that you deserved to have wept a little 
sooner. Either say that he was not worth the having, 
and then you need not weep at all, or else give God 
the thanks that you had a person so worthy, and that 
will stay your immoderate weeping. . . . When 
you are apt to fetch a sigh, and say, 0, my dear friend 
is gone ! call it in again, and say, Thanks be to God 
that I had such a one to lose. AVho would not be 
willing to spend some tears after so much joy ? But 



208 REASONS AGAINST IMMODERATE SORROW. 

then the remembrance of the joy will command that 
the tears do not overflow. It is an excellent saying 
of Seneca, " I ever think of my friends with joy ; for 
I had them as if I should lose them, and I have lost 
them as if I had them." If we could but think of them 
as dying while they are alive, then we should more 
easily think of them as alive when they are dead. If 
we could be willing to part with them when we have 
them, we should think that we have them when we 
have parted with them. And the truth is, we cannot 
please ourselves long in the remembrance of them, un- 
less it be accompanied with some joy. I do not advise 
you to forget your friends, and put them out of mind, 
but to remember them, and keep them in your thoughts. 
But how short a remembrance, saith the same Seneca, 
must that be, which is always joined with grief and 
sorrow ! If we would remember one always, we must 
remember him with pleasure ; for no man will return 
willingly to that which he cannot think of without his 
torment. And if there be any little grief intermixed 
with our thoughts, yet that grief hath its pleasure. 
As the sharpness of old wine doth make it more ac- 
ceptable to men's palates, and as apples are more 
grateful for their sour sweetness, so Attalus was wont 
to say, that the remembrance of our friends is the 
more pleasant for that little sorrow that is mingled 
with it. . . . 

Ask thyself, Who is it that governs the world ? Is it 
the will of God, or thy will, that thou prayest may be 
done ? Shall not he that made a thing have leave to 
dispose of it as he thinks good ? By what law is it 
that he shall not do what he pleases with his own ? 



REASONS AGAINST IMMODERATE SORROW. 209 

Must we have our wills in all things, and must not he 
have his will also ? Must not he be pleased as well as 
we ? If we think it so reasonable to have what we 
will, then it is more reasonable that he should have 
what pleases him. Now, if our will and his will can- 
not stand together, which shall bend and submit them- 
selves to the other ? Is not his will most wise ? If he 
had considered better, would he have done otherwise ? 
Could we have told him what would be most fit for 
us ? If we had been of his counsel, should not this 
friend have been taken away ? Doth he will things 
because he will ? Perhaps there is no reason at all 
for our wills, and we are in love with a thing we 
know not why. Shall we think that he is so in like 
manner? Or, if we have any reasons, are not his bet- 
ter ? We would have the life of a child, that he may 
be a comfort unto us : God will have us to part with 
him, that he himself may be our only comfort. We 
should choose his life, that he might enjoy the things 
that we have got ; but God thinks fit that he should 
die, that we may put our estates to better uses, where- 
by we are assured he may be more glorified. Or per- 
haps we desire our children may live for God's glory's 
sake, that they may honor and serve him in the world. 
But cannot he tell what is best for his own glory ? Is 
he so careless of that as to take away the things with- 
out which he cannot be served ? Let us, then, cease 
our complaints, unless we would have him to let us 
govern the world. . . . 

Doth not God do all things for our good ? Do we 
wish better to ourselves than God doth? Hath not 
he the greatest care of all his creatures, to see that it 
18* 



210 REASONS AGAINST IMMODERATE SORROW. 

be well with them? Did he make them for any other 
end than that they might be happy ? Is there the least 
sparrow that falls to the ground without our Father's 
providence ? Then mankind must needs be under a 
greater love, and none of them can die by chance, but 
by his direction. And, above all other men, he hath 
a singular care over the persons of good Christians, 
the very hairs of whose heads are all numbered. If 
not so much as a hair can drop off without him, much 
less can any body of them fall into their graves but 
he hath a hand in it. But still he hath a more special 
providence over such Christians as are fatherless and 
widows, helpless, and destitute of all succor. And, 
therefore, as it was his goodness that took their friends 
away, so much more will his goodness take care of 
them whom he hath left none else to take care of. He 
considers us not only as his children, but as children 
placed in the midst of such and such circumstances, as 
desolate and sad, as left only to his providence and 
tuition. And therefore it is that the Psalmist saith, 
" Thou art the helper of the fatherless." (Ps. x. 14.) 
And, in another place, " A father of the fatherless, and 
a judge of the widows, is God in his holy habitation." 
(Ps. lxviii. 5.) " I am poor and sorrowful ; let thy 
salvation, God, set me up on high." (Ps. lxix. 29.) 
Yea, and all good men are full of compassion to such 
persons ; so that " the blessing of those who are ready 
to perish " comes upon them, and they cause " the 
widow's heart to sing for joy." (Job xxix. 13.) 

It is an excellent saying of the royal philosopher 
Antoninus, worthy to be engraven upon our minds, 
" If there be a God, then nothing can be hurtful to 



REASONS AGAINST IMMODERATE SORROW. 211 

us, for he will not involve us in evil. But if either 
there be none, or he take no care of men's matters, 
what shall I live for in a world that is without a 
God, or without a providence ? But there is a God, 
and he cares for men also, and hath put it into their 
power not to fall into those things which are truly 
evil. And for the rest that befall us, if any thing of 
them had been evil, he would have provided that we 
should have been able not to have fallen into that 
either." But if this great person had known, also, 
that God leaves us not alone to our own power, when 
he sends any thing upon us, but that he hath a pecu- 
liar love to his servants when they are in trouble, and 
affords them his assistance, he would have said on this 
sort : " If we be not alone without God, then nothing 
need discomfort us, for he is the God of all comfort. 
If we be alone, then we had need to be most dis- 
comforted for that, and never endure in a condition 
without God. But we are not alone, and we are 
least alone when we are alone ; and have him most 
when we have other things least. Therefore he 
hath put it into our power not to be troubled, but 
to go to him for comfort in all that befalls us ; and 
if there were no comfort in him for us in such cases, 
then they should not have befallen us. Let us not, 
therefore, mourn as long as we have a God, and as 
long as all things make us seek for our comfort in 
him." 



212 PRAISE FOR AFFLICTIONS. 



SUBMISSION TO AFFLICTIONS. 

SWAINE. 

There is a secret in the ways of God, 

With his own children, which none others know, 

That sweetens all he does ; and if such peace, 

While under his afflicting hand, we find, 

What will it be to see him as he is, 

And past the reach of all that now disturbs 

The tranquil soul's repose ? to contemplate, 

In retrospect unclouded, all the means 

By which his wisdom has prepared his saints 

For the vast weight of glory which remains ? 

Come, then, Affliction, if my Father bids, 

And be my frowning friend : a friend that frowns 

Is better than a smiling enemy. 



PRAISE FOR AFFLICTIONS. 

Caroline Fry. 

For what shall I praise thee, my God and my King ? 
For what blessings the tribute of gratitude bring ? 
Shall I praise thee for pleasure, for health, or for ease ? 
For the spring of delight and the sunshine of peace ? 



PRAISE FOR AFFLICTIONS. 213 

Shall I praise thee for flowers that bloom on my 

breast ? 
For joys in perspective, and pleasures possessed ? 
For the spirits that brightened my days of delight, 
And the slumbers that sat on my pillow by night ? 

For this I should praise thee ; but only for this, 
I should leave half untold the donation of bliss : 
I thank thee for sickness, for sorrow, for care, 
For the thorns I have gathered, the anguish I bear ; — 

For nights of anxiety, watchings, and tears, 

A present of pain, a perspective of fears : 

I praise thee, I bless thee, my King and my God, 

For the good and the evil thy hand hath bestowed. 

The flowers were sweet, but their fragrance is flown ; 
They yielded no fruit ; they are withered and gone : 
The thorn it was poignant, but precious to me ; 
? Twas the message of mercy — it led me to thee. 

" It is with the wind and storm of tribulation that God, in the garner of 
the soul, separates the true wheat from the chaff. Always remember, 
therefore, that God comes to thee in thy sorrows, as really as in thy joys. 
He lays low, and he builds up. Hold thy peace, and let thyself be guided 
by the hand of God ; suffer in patience, and walk on in strong faith. De- 
sire of God only one thing — that thou mayst spend thy life for his sake in 
true obedience and subjection. The way in which our blessed Savior trod 
was not one of softness and sweetness." — Molinos. 



214 SONG OF DEATH. 



SONG OF DEATH. 



Anonymous 



Shrink not, human spirit ; 
The everlasting arm is strong to save : 
Look up, look up, frail nature ; put thy trust 
In Him who went down mourning to the dust, 
And overcame the grave. 

Quickly goes down the sun ; 

Life's work is almost done ; 
Fruitless endeavor, hope deferred, and strife ; 

One little struggle more, 

One pang, and then is o'er 
All the long, mournful weariness of life. 

Kind friends, 'tis almost past ; 

Come now, and look your last ; 

Sweet children, gather near, 

And his last blessing hear ; 
See how he loved you who departeth now ; 
And with thy trembling step and pallid brow, 

most beloved one, 

Whose breast he leaned upon, 

Come, faithful unto death, 

Receive his parting breath ; 
The fluttering spirit panteth to be free. 
Hold him not back who speeds to victory. 
The bonds are riven, the struggling soul is free. 



SONG OF DEATH. 215 

Hail, hail, enfranchised spirit, 
Thou that the wine press of the field hast trod ; 
On, blest immortal, on through boundless space, 
And stand with thy Redeemer face to face, 
And stand before thy God. 

Life's weary work is o'er ; 

Thou art of earth no more ; 
No more art trammelled by th' oppressive clay, 

But tread'st with winged ease 

The high acclivities 
Of truths sublime, up heaven's crystalline way. 

Here no bootless guest ; 

The city's name is Rest ; 

Here shall no fear appall ; 

Here love is all in all ; 
Here shalt thou win thy ardent soul's desire, 
Here clothe thee in thy beautiful attire. 

Lift, lift thy wondering eyes ; 

Yonder is paradise ; 

And this fair, shining band 

Are spirits of thy land ; 
And these that throng to meet thee are thy kin, 
Who have awaited thee redeemed from sin. 
The city's gates unfold : enter, 0, enter in. 



216 NO MORE. 



NO MORE. 

Mrs. He mans. 

No more ! a harpstring's deep, sad, breaking tone, 

A last, low summer breeze, a far-off knell, 
A dying echo of rich music gone, 

Breathe through those words, — those murmurs of 
farewell, — 

No more ! 

To dwell in peace with home affections bound, 
To know the sweetness of a mother's voice, 

To feel the spirit of her love around, 
And in the blessing of her age rejoice, — 

No more ! 

A dirge-like sound ! — to greet the early friend 
Unto the hearth, his place of many days ; 

In the glad song with kindred lips to blend, 
Or join the household laughter by the blaze, — 

No more ! 

Through woods that shadowed our first years to rove, 

With all our native music in the air ; 
To watch the sunset with the eyes we love, 

And turn and meet our own heart's answer there, — 

No more ! 



NO MORE. 217 

Words of despair! — yet earth's, all earth's the woe 
Their passion breathes, — the desolately deep ! 

That sound in heaven, — 0, image, then, the flow 
Of gladness in its tones! — to part, to weep, — 

No more ! 

To watch in dying hope affection's wane, 

To see the beautiful from life depart, 
To wear impatiently a secret chain, 

To waste the untold riches of the heart, — 

No more ! 

Through long, long years to seek, to strive, to yearn 
For human love, and never quench that thirst ; 

To pour the soul out, winning no return, 
O'er fragile idols, by delusion nursed, — 

No more ! 

On things that fail us, reed by reed, to lean ; 

To mourn the changed, the far away, the dead ; 
To send our searching spirits through th' unseen, 

Intensely questioning for treasures fled, — 

No more ! 

Words of triumphant music ! bear we on 

The weight of life, the chain, th' ungenial air ; 
Their deathless meaning, when our tasks are done, 
To learn in joy ; — to struggle, to despair, — 

No more ! 
19 



218 CROSSING THE DARK RIVER. 



CROSSING THE DARK RIVER. 

Rev. E. Monro. 

It was a silent evening, and the sunset glowed over 
the distant hill. The faint stars came out one by one 
in the deep-blue sky, and they shed a pale light on the 
broad sheet of water, which flowed slowly and heavily 
on, of the Dark Eiver. On the bank stood the family 
of Adeodatus, and I saw him among them. My atten- 
tion was drawn towards them with increasing interest. 
I saw he was pale, deadly pale, but calm — calm as 
the still sunset on the hill ; his eye was blue as a sum- 
mer sky at midday, and his brow was solemn, thought- 
ful, and sad. His family were weeping around him, 
and I doubted not that he was about to cross the 
stream. I heard but few sounds ; the words, " 
Adeodatus ! our dear Adeodatus ! " sighed along the 
water's edge. But his gentle and quiet face seemed to 
hush them all. I was surprised beyond measure at the 
composure with which he came so close to the water 
at which he had so trembled at the distance. But I 
looked to the silver thread, and saw it was brilliant 
even to dazzling me. 

" My mother, my mother ! " said the youth, " I shall 
soon enter into the dark waters ; but I feel calm ; the 
silver thread is bound close around me, and it seems as 
if it would draw me on to the other side. Weep not 



CHRISTIANS BY THE RIVER OF DEATH. 219 

for me, my mother, weep not for Adeodatus ; but while 
you sojourn a while longer in the wilderness, think 
of the day when you must all cross the water. I fear 
it not ; I know that He whom I have ever loved, 
though so weakly, will bear me safe through. Fare- 
well, my family ! my beloved family, farewell ! " And 
as he spoke, his last accents were choked by the rising 
wave into which he had glided. All their eyes were 
fixed in the track of the water where their beloved had 
entered. But they saw no sign of his form ; all they 
saw was the silver cord beneath the water, shining 
with crystal light, so as to light up the Dark River it- 
self with its glory. They fixed their eyes on the other 
side, but they could not see across. The deep shadows 
hung there ; and though some fancied they saw a light 
and a form on the side opposite where Adeodatus had 
entered, it was an indistinct fancy. He had passed 
away, and they saw him no more. 



CHRISTIANS BY THE RIVER OF DEATH. 

Mrs. E. H. Evans. 

There came a little child, with sunny hair, 
All fearless to the brink of death 7 s dark river, 

And with a sweet confiding in the care 
Of Him who is of life the joy and giver ; 

And as upon the waves she left our sight. 

We heard her say, " My Savior makes them bright.' 



220 CHRISTIANS BY THE RIVER OF DEATH. 

Next came a youth, with bearing most serene, 
Nor turned a single backward look of sadness ; 

But as he left each gay and flowery scene, 

Smiling declared, " My soul is filled with gladness ; 

What earth deems bright forever I resign, 

Joyful but this to know, that Christ is mine." 

An aged mourner, trembling, tottered by, 
And paused a moment by the swelling river, 

Then glided on, beneath the shadowy sky, 

Singing, " Christ Jesus is my strength forever. 

Upon his arm my feeble soul I lean — 

My glance meets his without a cloud between. 77 

And scarce her last triumphant note had died, 
Ere hastened on a man of wealth and learning, 

Who cast at once his bright renown aside, 
These only words unto his friends returning : 

" Christ for my wisdom thankfully I own, 

And as a little child I seek his throne. 77 

Then saw I this — that whether guileless child, 
Or youth, or age, or genius, won salvation, 

Each, self -renouncing, came ; on each God smiled — 
Each found the love of Christ rich compensation 

For loss of friends, earth's pleasures, and renown — 

Each entered heaven, and " bv his side sat down. 77 



THE PILGRIM SAFELY OYER THE DARK RIYER. 221 



THE PILGRIM SAFELY ON THE OTHER SIDE 
OF THE DARK RIVER. 

John Bunyan. 

Now, upon the bank of the river, on the other side, 
they saw the two Shining Men again, who there waited 
for them. Wherefore, being come out of the river, 
they saluted them, saying, " We are ministering spirits, 
sent forth to minister for those that shall be heirs of 
salvation." . . . There, said they, is " the Mount 
Zion, the heavenly Jerusalem, the innumerable com- 
pany of angels, and the spirits of just men made per- 
fect." You are going now, said they, to the paradise 
of God, wherein you shall see the tree of life, and eat 
of the never-fading fruits thereof ; and, when you come 
there, you shall have white robes given you, and your 
walk and talk shall be every day with the King, even 
all the days of eternity. There you shall not see 
again such things as you saw when you were in the 
lower region upon the earth, to wit, sorrow, sickness, 
affliction, and death, " for the former things are passed 
away." You are going now to Abraham, to Isaac, and 
to Jacob, and to the prophets, men that God hath 
taken away from the evil to come, and that are now 
"resting upon their beds, each one walking in his 
righteousness." . . . You must there receive the 
comfort of all your toil, and have joy for all your 
19 * 



222 THE PILGRIM SAFELY OVER THE DARK RIVER. 

sorrow ; you must reap what you have sown, even the 
fruit of all your prayers, and tears, and sufferings for 
the King by the way. In that place you must wear 
crowns of gold, and enjoy the perpetual sight and 
vision of the Holy One, for there "you shall see him 
as he is." There, also, you shall serve him continually 
with praise, with shouting, and thanksgiving, whom 
you desired to serve in the world, though with much 
difficulty, because of the infirmity of your flesh. There 
your eyes shall be delighted with seeing, and your ears 
with hearing, the pleasant voice of the Mighty One. 
There you shall enjoy your friends again that are gone 
thither before you ; and there you shall with joy re- 
ceive every one that follows into the holy place after 
you. There, also, you shall be clothed with glory and 
majesty, and put into an equipage fit to ride out with 
the King of Glory. When he shall come with sound 
of trumpet in the clouds, as upon the wings of the 
wind, you shall come with him ; and, when he shall 
sit upon the throne of judgment, you shall sit by him : 
yea, and when he shall pass sentence upon all the 
workers of iniquity, let them be angels or men, you 
shall have a voice in that judgment, because they 
were his and your enemies. Also, when he shall again 
return to the city, you shall go, too, with sound of 
trumpet, and be ever with him. 



THE GRAVE. 223 



THE GRAVE. 

Washington Irving. 

The sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from 
which we refuse to be divorced. Every other wound 
we seek to heal, every other affliction to forget ; but 
this wound we consider it a duty to keep open, this 
affliction we cherish and brood over in solitude. 
Where is the mother who would willingly forget the 
infant that has perished like a blossom from her arms, 
though every recollection is a pang? Where is the 
child that would willingly forget a tender parent, 
though to remember be but to lament ? Who ever, in 
the hour of agony, would forget the friend over whom 
he mourns ? 

No, the love which survives the tomb is one of the 
noblest attributes of the soul. If it has its woes, it 
has likewise its delights ; and when the overwhelming 
burst of grief is calmed into the gentle tear of recol- 
lection, when the sudden anguish and the convulsive 
agony over the present ruins of all that we most loved 
is softened away into pensive meditation on all that it 
was in the days of its loveliness, who would root out 
such a sorrow from the heart ? Though it may some- 
times throw a passing cloud over the bright hour of 
gayety, or spread a deeper sadness over the hour of 
gloom, yet who would exchange it even for the song 



224 THE GRAVE. 

of pleasure or the burst of revelry ? No, there is a 
voice from the tomb sweeter than song. There is a 
remembrance of the dead to which we turn even from 
the charms of the living. 0, the grave ! It buries 
every error, covers every defect, extinguishes every 
resentment. From its peaceful bosom spring none but 
fond regrets and tender recollections. Who can look 
down upon the grave — even of an enemy — and not 
feel a compunctious throb, that he should have warred 
with the poor handful of earth that lies mouldering 
before him ? But the grave of those we loved — what 
a place for meditation ! There it is that we call up, in 
long review, the whole history of virtue and gentle- 
ness, and the thousand endearments lavished upon us 
almost unheeded, in the daily intercourse of intimacy ; 
there it is that we dwell upon the tenderness, the sol- 
emn, awful tenderness of the parting scene ; the bed 
of death, with all its stifled griefs, its noiseless attend- 
ance, its mute, watchful assiduities ; the last testimonies 
of expiring love ; the feeble, fluttering, thrilling — 0, 
how thrilling ! — pressure of the hand ; the last fond 
look of the glazing eye turning upon us even from the 
threshold of existence ; the faint, faltering accents 
struggling in death to give one more assurance of 
affection. 

Ay, go to the grave of buried love, and meditate. 
There settle the account with thy conscience for every 
past benefit unrequited, every past endearment unre- 
garded, of that departed being who can never, never, 
never return to be soothed by thy contrition. If thou 
art a child, and hast ever added a sorrow to the soul, 
or a furrow to the silvered brow, of an affectionate 



THE GRAVE. 225 

parent ; if thou art a husband, and hast ever caused the 
fond bosom, that ventured its whole happiness in thy 
arms, to doubt one moment of thy kindness or thy 
truth ; if thou art a friend", and hast ever wronged, in 
thought, or word, or deed, the spirit that generously con- 
fided in thee ; if thou hast given one unmerited pang 
to that true heart which now lies cold and still beneath 
thy feet, — then be sure that every unkind look, every 
ungracious word, every ungentle action, will come 
thronging back upon thy memory, and knocking dole- 
fully at thy soul ; then be sure that thou wilt lie down 
sorrowing and repentant on the grave, and utter 
the unheard groan, and pour the unavailing tear 
— more deep, more bitter, because unheard and una- 
vailing. 

Then weave thy chaplet of flowers, and strew the 
beauties of nature about the grave ; console thy broken 
spirit, if thou canst, with these tender, yet futile trib- 
utes of regret ; but take warning by the bitterness of 
this thy contrite affliction over the dead., and hence- 
forth be more faithful and affectionate in the discharge 
of thy duties to the living. 



226 FAREWELL OP THE SOUL TO THE BODY. 



FAREWELL OP THE SOUL TO THE BODY. 

Mrs. Sigourney. 

Companion dear, the hour draws nigh, 

The sentence speeds — to die, to die. 

So long in mystic union held, 

So close with strong embrace compelled, 

How canst thou bear the dread decree 

That strikes thy clasping nerves from me ? 

To Him who, on this mortal shore, 

The same encircling vestment wore, 

To him I look, to him I bend, 

To him thy shuddering frame commend. 

If I have ever caused thee pain, 

The throbbing breast, the burning brain, 

With cares and vigils turned thee pale, 

And scorned thee when thy strength did fail, 

Forgive, forgive ! thy task doth cease, 

Friend ! lover ! let us part in peace. 

That thou didst sometimes check my force, 

Or, trifling, stay mine upward course, 

Or lure from heaven my wavering trust, 

Or bow my drooping wing to dust, 

I blame thee not ; the strife is done ; 

I knew thou wert the weaker one, 

The vase of earth, the trembling clod, 

Constrained to hold the breath of God. 



FAREWELL OF THE SOUL TO THE BODY. 227 

Well hast thou in my service wrought ; 

Thy brow hath mirrored forth my thought ; 

To wear my smile thy lip hath glowed, 

Thy tear, to speak my sorrows, flowed ; 

Thine ear hath borne me rich supplies 

Of sweetly-varied melodies ; 

Thy hands my prompted deeds have done, 

Thy feet upon my errands run. 

Yes, thou hast marked my bidding well, 

Faithful and true ! farewell, farewell. 

Go to thy rest. A quiet bed 

Meek Mother Earth with flowers shall spread, 

Where I no more thy sleep may break 

With fevered dream, nor rudely wake 

Thy wearied eye. 

0, quit thy hold, 
For thou art faint, and chill, and cold, 
And long thy gasp and groan of pain 
Have bound me pitying in thy chain, 
Though angels urge me hence to soar, 
Where I shall share thine ills no more. 
Yet we shall meet. To soothe thy pain, 
Remember, we shall meet again. 
Quell with this hope the victor's sting, 
And keep it as a signet ring, 
When the dire worm shall pierce thy breast, 
And nought but ashes mark thy rest ; 
When stars shall fall, and skies grow dark, 
And proud suns quench their glowworm spark, 
Keep thou that hope, to light thy gloom, 
Till the last trumpet rends the tomb. 



228 FINAL REUNION OF THE SOUL AND BODY. 

Then shalt thou glorious rise, and fair, 
Nor spot, nor stain, nor wrinkle bear, 
And I, with hovering wing elate, 
The bursting of thy bonds shall wait, 
And breathe the welcome of the sky — 
" No more to part, no more to die, 
Co-heir of immortality." 



FINAL REUNION OF THE SOUL AND BODY. 

Flayel. 

Christ's body was raised from the dead to be 
glorified and crowned with honor. 0, it was a joyful 
day to him ; and so will the resurrection of the saints 
be to them the day of the gladness of their hearts. It 
will be said to them in that morning, " Awake and sing, 
ye that dwell in the dust." (Is. xxvi. 19.) 0, how com- 
fortable will be the meeting between the glorified soul 
and its new-raised body ! For even glorified souls in 
heaven have such a desire of reunion. We are all 
sensible of the soul's affection to the body now, its 
sympathy with it, and unwillingness to be separated 
from it. It is said to be "at home in the body." 
(2 Cor. v. 6.) This inclination remains in heaven ; it 
reckons not itself completely happy till its older, dear 
companion and partner be with it. Now, when this 
inclination to its own body, its longings after it, are 



FINAL REUNION OF THE SOUL AND BODY. 229 

gratified with the sight and enjoyment of it again, 
what a joyful meeting will this be ! As the body shall 
be raised with all the improvements and endowments 
imaginable which may render it every way desirable, 
so the soul comes down immediately from God out 
of heaven, shining in its holiness and glory. And thus 
it reenters its body, and animates it again. 

The chief joy of this meeting consists in the end for 
which the glorified soul comes down to quicken and 
repossess it, namely, to meet the Lord, and ever to be 
with the Lord ; to receive a full reward for all the 
labors and services it performed for God in this world. 
This must make that day a day of triumph and exalta- 
tion. It comes out of the grave, as Joseph out of 
prison, to be advanced to the highest honor. 0, do 
but imagine with what an ecstasy of joy the soul will 
thus resume its own body, and say, as it were, unto it, 
Come away, my dear, my ancient friend, who servedst 
and sufferedst with me in the world ; come along with 
me to meet the Lord, in whose presence I have been 
ever since I parted with thee. Now, thy bountiful 
Lord hath remembered thee also, and the day of thy 
glorification is come. Surely it will be a joyful meet- 
ing. What a joy is it for dear friends to meet after a 
long separation ! How they usually give demonstra- 
tions of their love and delight in each other by em- 
braces, kisses, and tears ! And frame to yourselves the 
idea of perfect health, when a sprightly vivacity runs 
through every part, and the spirits, as it were, overflow 
as we go about any business, especially such as the 
business of that day will be — to receive a crown and a 
20 



230 HOPE FOR THE MOURNER. 

kingdom. Do but imagine what a bright morning this 
will be, and how the pains and agonies, cold sweats 
and bitter groans, at parting will be recompensed by 
the joy of such a meeting ! 



HOPE FOR THE MOURNER. 

Bernard Barton. 

" But it shall come to pass, that at evening time it shall be light." 

Zech. xiv. 7. 

We journey through a vale of tears, 

By many a cloud overcast, 
And worldly cares and worldly fears 

Go with us to the last. 
Not to the last ! Thy word hath said, 

Could we but read aright, 
Poor pilgrim, lift in hope thy head ; 

At eye there shall be light. 

Though earth-born shadows now may shroud 

Thy thorny path a while, 
God's blessed word can part each cloud, 

And bid the sunshine smile. 
Only believe, in living faith, 

His love and power divine, 
And ere thy sun shall set in death, 

His light shall round thee shine. 



IMMORTALITY. 231 

When tempest clouds are dark on high, 

His bow of love and peace 
Shines sweetly in the vaulted sky, 

Betokening storms shall cease. 
Hold on thy way, with hope unchilled, 

By faith, and not by sight, 
And thou shalt own His word fulfilled — 

At eve it shall be light. 



IMMORTALITY. 

G. Moore. 

Morality and religion are based upon immortality ; 
and not only so, but the emotions proper to moral and 
religious conduct necessarily indicate deathlessness. 
In short, we cannot entertain a notion of right and 
wrong without believing in a future state, or a life in 
which good or evil dispositions find their results. We 
are bound to right conduct, because the laws of Heaven 
are the laws of eternity, and we cannot escape the 
judgment already against us if we neglect our salvation. 
If nominal death, the death of the body, were the end 
of man's being, he might dismiss the claims of con- 
science from his soul ; he would then have nothing 
to mind, nothing to concern himself about, but to take 
his ease as long as it lasted, and to seize upon the 
accommodations of this world of promise and provis- 
ion to the best of his ability. . . . Those who do 



232 IMMORTALITY. 

not look forward to a life beyond the grave really act 
on this unaccountable principle — "Let us eat and 
drink, for to-morrow we die. 77 And they would be 
quite justified in so doing if something did not say 
within them, You cannot die — your God has to do 
with you forever. 

• •••*• 

The immortality of the soul was implied in all the 
commandments of God under the Mosaic economy, and 
in the history of the patriarchs, and in all the trials 
of men's spirits from the beginning, because there was 
no sufficient end to be answered by the divine per- 
mission and providence as regarded man, unless in 
sustaining him in the hope of a future and enlarged 
existence. Hence the great cloud of witnesses ad- 
duced by Paul (Heb. xi.) as having acted under the 
power of faith with respect to the better resurrection, 
believing as they did in God as the Rewarder of his 
worshippers. And the translation of Enoch and of 
Elijah was the visible regeneration of the body itself 
under the act of the Almighty's will, by which man 
was fitted in a moment to exchange earth for heaven, 
as a spiritual being accommodated to a physical uni- 
verse by a mediate body, capable of change according 
to the demands of the inhabiting spirit and the place 
in which it was required to dwell. There was always 
sufficient evidence on earth to induce the hope of 
another life, and plain facts asserted, to all who could 
credit honest testimony, the reasonableness of looking 
beyond this world for the fruition of a soul set on 
finding its Maker. The reasonableness of such a be- 
lief may be shown not only by reference to the 



IMMORTALITY. 233 

evidences which revelation bears in itself, but also from 
the natural constitution of things, and from the un- 
avoidable inferences of reason concerning the Creator's 
purpose, as evinced in the existence of mind and 
matter. 

1st. Human immortality may be inferred, because a 
mind that is constituted to look forward to futurity 
with religious hope, and for the satisfaction of rational 
desire, cannot have answered the purpose for which it 
was created without the fulfilment of that hope and 
that desire. He who satisfies the desire of every liv- 
ing thing has not yet satisfied this desire. This argu- 
ment, however, can have no weight but with those who 
experience the expressed state of mind. Those who 
are in the pitiable condition of being without this hope 
and this desire must be living without any conscious- 
ness of divine existence, and they need to be roused 
into spiritual vitality and vigilance before they can 
listen to arguments for eternal life. This is the work 
of God, and he is engaged in it by constraining men 
to reason from their experience, and their hopes, and 
their fears ; for even doubt is an argument for immor- 
tality, since it implies the question of a mind that can- 
not rest in the expectation of nothingness, but believes 
only in an ever-coming to-morrow. 

2d. If there be no future or continued existence, then 
the Maker of man has made him capable and desirous 
of learning more of his wisdom from his works, and 
yet has left him without any code of laws to govern 
his moral being, or any instruction sufficient to guide 
his inquiries concerning his future destiny ; for moral 
laws are not binding on creatures destined to perish, 
20* 



234 IMMORTALITY. 

and that doctrine is only deceptive which points to tho 
light of heaven, and then leaves the soul to be quenched 
in everlasting darkness. 

3d. If God has not left man without revelation, then 
man is immortal, because the only intelligence which 
he has received with any indication of its being re- 
vealed from God, is that which informs him of eternal 
safety as a reward, and eternal damage as a punish- 
ment, as the necessary consequence from the essential 
order of moral government. 

4th. As what we learn concerning our Maker, from 
his works and his word, begets in all devout minds a 
happy reliance upon him and an adoring love, because 
of the cumulative proofs thus afforded of his benev- 
olence and wisdom, and as this reliance and this love 
are in relation to a being who cannot cease to be 
adorable, there would be an incongruity of God's own 
making between the power to adore and the object of 
adoration, if man were not constituted, when actuated 
by indwelling truth, with a ceaseless capacity of wor- 
shipping and loving his Creator. But to suppose in- 
congruity in God is to deny him. 

5th. Without immortality, man would be a total con- 
tradiction to every idea of Deity ; and all earthly men- 
tal existence would be useless, because, although it 
seems to serve the purpose of manifesting God, it only 
serves, in fact, to excite hopes to end in disappoint- 
ment, and to afford a taste of life which yet conveys 
to the spirit only death. The insect at the fountain 
may sip and sustain its powers, to fulfil the purposes 
of its little being ; but man must drink destruction at 
the source and streams of life, since his eagerness for 



IMMORTALITY. 235 

intelligence and enjoyment leads only to his being lost 
amid the flood that flows from beneath the throne of 
God, unless he be immortal. 

These arguments are mutually resolvable, the one 
into the other, and, after all, merely express an in- 
tuitive conviction that, because we are what we are, 
we must be something greater hereafter, and that we 
must continue to exist, since we cannot suppose our 
present state to be other than as a stage in our prog- 
ress towards the full purpose of our existence. 

If we do not believe in our future being, we must 
believe in something still more difficult to apprehend, 
for to expect continued life is according to our habit 
and our sense of probability ; but not to believe this, 
we must believe in annihilation ; but this we cannot, 
because we find no ground on which to proceed to such 
a conclusion, since there is no instance of such an event 
in all our knowledge, and therefore there can be no 
possibility of our supposing the Omnipotent engaged in 
blotting out his own work. . . . The preceding 
are the reasons which determine my own convictions, 
and they appear to me most consonant with the doc- 
trines of the Bible and with man's moral conscious- 
ness. In short, I believe the soul is immortal, merely 
because it is a soul ; but without revelation there could 
not be a sufficient reason for a man's believing in im- 
mortality, since without that he would not have known 
enough of himself. What the heathen philosophers 
wanted in order to satisfy them, or at least to impart 
to them a hope full of immortality, was a true knowl- 
edge of God and of man. A mythology without an 
omnipotent Deity is a system without a sun — there is 



236 IMMORTALITY. 

no cause of light or life in it — there is no being as the 
source and centre of existence, no mind interested in 
all other minds, no unity in intelligence, no bond of 
reason, no parent of spirits to whom they might come 
to dissipate their doubts. What was needed was a 
Logos to demonstrate that the Divinity was not a mul- 
titude of conflicting attributes, which men had im- 
agined and adored as distinct deities, but that God 
was one, who, reconciling all things to himself, came 
forth to show himself as the Father of our spirits. 
When God was seen as love manifest in humanity, man 
was visibly immortal. It is in vain to reason of life 
everlasting without a demonstration of its cause, and 
that was never seen, except in as far as the Almighty 
made himself known as the immediate Friend of man. 
In the book of God we thus behold him. . . . 

There is much said by religious writers concerning 
the difference between a natural or necessary immor- 
tality and a derived immortality. Let us understand 
our own words. What God wills, that is nature ; 
what he does, that is necessary ; and he does what he 
wills. If, then, he wills that man should be immortal, 
man's immortality is natural and necessary. All that 
the creature possesses is, of course, by gift. God has 
immortality, but he has it to bestow : " the gift of God 
is eternal life by Jesus Christ." 

" But is now made manifest by the appearing of our Savior Jesus Christ, 
who hath abolished death, and hath brought life and immortality to light 
through the gospel." — 1 Timothy i. 

"For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must 
put on immortality. So when this corruptible shall have put on incorrup- 
tion, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought 
to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory." — 1 
Corinthians xv. 



INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY. 237 



INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY. 

K. H. Dana. 

0, listen, man ! 
A voice within us speaks the startling word, 
" Man, thou shalt never die ! " Celestial voices 
Hymn it around our souls ; according harps, 
By angel fingers touched when the mild stars 
Of morning sang together, sound forth still 
The song of our great immortality ; 
Thick-clustering orbs, and this our fair domain, 
The tall, dark mountains, and the deep-toned seas, 
Join in this solemn, universal song. 
0, listen ye, our spirits ; drink it in 
From all the air. 7 Tis in the gentle moonlight ; 
; Tis floating in day's setting glories ; night, 
Wrapped in her sable robe, with silent step 
Comes to our bed, and breathes it in our ears ; 
Night and the dawn, bright day and thoughtful eve, 
All time, all bounds, the limitless expanse, 
As one vast, mystic instrument, are touched 
By an unseen, living hand, and conscious chords 
Quiver with joy in this great jubilee : 
The dying hear it, and, as sounds of earth 
Grow dull and distant, wake their passing souls 
To mingle in this heavenly harmony. 



238 THE RESURRECTION. 



THE RESURRECTION. 

Rev. Henry Melvill. 

Had not Christ undertaken the suretyship of our 
race, there would never have come a time when the 
dead shall be raised. If there had been no interposi- 
tion on behalf of the fallen, whatever had become of 
the souls of men, their bodies must have remained un- 
der the tyranny of death. The original curse was a 
curse of death on the whole man. And it cannot be 
argued that the curse of the body's death could allow, 
so long as unrepealed, the body's resurrection. So that 
we may lay it down as an undisputed truth, that Christ 
Jesus achieved man's resurrection. He was emphatical- 
ly the Author of man's resurrection. Without Christ, 
and apart from that redemption of our nature which 
he wrought out by obedience and suffering, there 
would have been no resurrection. It is just because the 
eternal Son took our nature into union with his own, 
and endured therein the curse provoked by disobe- 
dience, that a time is yet to arrive when the buried 
generations shall throw off the dishonors of corruption. 
. . . And if you call to mind the statement of St. 
Paul, " Since by man came death, by man came also 
the resurrection of the dead," (1 Cor. xv. 21,) you will 
perceive that the resurrection came by Christ, in ex- 
actly the same manner as death had come by Adam. 



THE RESURRECTION. 239 

Now, we know that death came by Adam as the repre- 
sentative of human nature ; and we therefore infer 
that the resurrection came by Christ as the represent" 
ative of human nature. Retaining always his divine 
personality, the second person of the Trinity took our 
nature into union with his own ; and in all his obedi- 
ence, and in all his suffering, occupied this nature in the 
character and with the properties of a head. When he 
obeyed, it was the nature, and not a human person, which 
obeyed. When he suffered, it was the nature, and not a 
human person, which suffered. So that, when he died? 
he died as our head ; and when he rose, he arose also as 
our head. And thus, — keeping up the alleged paral- 
lel between Adam and Christ, — as every man dies be- 
cause concerned in the disobedience of the one, so he 
rises because included in the ransom of the other. 
Human nature having been crucified, and buried, and 
raised in Jesus, all who partake of this nature partake 
of it in the state into which it has been brought by a 
Mediator — a state of rescue from the power of the 
grave, and not of a continuance in its dark dishonors. 
The nature had almost literally died in Adam, and this 
nature did as literally revive in Christ. Christ carried 
it through all its scenes of trial, and toil, and tempta- 
tion, up to the closing scene of anguish and death ; 
and then he went down with it to the chambers of its 
lonely slumbers ; and there he brake into shivers the 
chain which bound it and kept it motionless ; and he 
brought it triumphantly back, the mortal immortalized, 
the decaying imperishable ; and " I am the resurrection " 
was then the proclamation to a wondering universe. 
• . , Christ is more than the efficient cause of the 



240 THE RESURRECTION. 

resurrection : he is the resurrection. The untold myri- 
ads of our lineage rose in the resurrection of the new 
Head of our race. Never, 0, never would the sheeted 
relics of mankind have walked forth from the vaults 
and the churchyards ; never from the valley and the 
mountain would there have started the millions who 
have fallen in the battle tug ; never would the giant 
caverns of the unfathomed ocean have yielded up the 
multitudes who were swept from the earth when its 
wickedness grew desperate, or whom stranded navies 
have bequeathed to the guardianship of the deep ; never 
would the dislocated and decomposed body have sha- 
ken off its dishonors, and stood out in strength and in 
symmetry, bone coming again to bone, and sinew bind- 
ing them, and skin covering them, had not He who 
so occupied the nature that he could act for the race, 
descended, in his prowess and his purity, into the cham- 
bers of death, and scattering the seeds of a new exist- 
ence throughout their far-spreading ranges, abandoned 
them to gloom and silence till a fixed and on-coming 
day, appointing that then the seeds should certainly 
germinate into a rich harvest of undying bodies, and 
the walls of the chambers, falling flat at the trumpet 
blast of judgment, disclose the swarming armies of the 
buried marching onward to the " great white throne." 
(Rev. xx. 11.) . . . " The resurrection and the life n 
— these are thy magnificent titles, Captain of our salva- 
tion ! And, therefore, we commit to thee body and 
soul ; for thou hast redeemed both, and thou wilt ad- 
vance both to the noblest and most splendid of por- 
tions. Who quails and shrinks, scared by the despot- 
ism of death? "Who fears the dashings of those cold, 



THE RESURRECTION. 241 

black waters which roll between us and the promised 
land ? Men and brethren, grasp your own privi- 
leges. Men and brethren, Christ Jesus has " abolished 
death." Will ye, by your faithlessness, throw strength 
into the skeleton, and give back empire to the de- 
throned and destroyed ? Yes, " the resurrection and 
the life v " abolished death. 77 Ye must indeed die, and 
so far death remains undestroyed. But if the terrible 
be destroyed when it can no longer terrify, and if the 
injurious be destroyed when it can no longer injure ; 
if the enemy be abolished when it does the work of a 
friend, and if the tyrant be abolished when performing 
the offices of a servant ; if the repulsive be destroyed 
when we can welcome it, and if the odious be destroyed 
when we can embrace it ; if the quicksand be abolished 
when we can walk it and sink not ; if the fire be abol- 
ished when we can pass through it and be scorched 
not ; if the poison be abolished if we can drink it and 
be hurt not, — then is death destroyed, then is death 
abolished, to all who believe on the resurrection and 
the life ; and the noble prophecy is fulfilled, — bear 
witness, ye groups of the ransomed, bending down from 
your high citadel of triumph, — " death, I will be thy 
plagues ; grave, I will be thy destruction. 77 (Hos. 
xiii. 14.) 

" I heard a voice from heaven 77 — for the angel 7 s 
tongue, that words so beautiful might have all their 
melodiousness — " saying unto me, Write, Blessed are 
the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth ; yea, 
saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labors, 
and their works do follow them. 77 (Rev. xiv. 13.) It is 
yet but a little while and we shall be delivered from 
21 



242 THERE IS A LAND. 

the burden and the conflict, and with all those who 
have preceded us in the righteous struggle, enjoy the 
deep raptures of a Mediator's presence. Then, reunited 
to the friends with whom we took sweet counsel upon 
earth, we shall recount our toil only to heighten our 
ecstasy ; and call to mind the tug and the din of war 
only that, with a more bounding throb and a richer 
song, we may feel and celebrate the wonders of re- 
demption. And when the morning of the first resur- 
rection breaks on this long-disordered and groaning 
creation, shall the words, whose syllables mingle so 
often with the funeral knell that we are disposed to 
carve them on the cypress tree rather than on the 
palm, " I am the resurrection and the life," form the 
chorus of that noble anthem, which those for whom 
Christ " died, and rose, and revived," (Rom. xiv. 9.) 
shall chant as they march from judgment to glory. 



THERE IS A LAND. 

Rev. A. C. Coxe. 

" And I said, that I had wings like a dove ! then would I fly away and 
be at rest." — Psalter. 

There is a land like Eden fair, 

But more than Eden blest ; 
The wicked cease from troubling there, 

The weary are at rest. 



THERE IS A LAND. 243 

There is a land of calmest shore, 

Where ceaseless summers smile, 
And winds, like angel whispers, pour 

Across the shining isle. 

There is a land of purest mirth, 

Where healing waters glide ; 
And there the wearied child of earth 

Untroubled may abide. 

There is a land where sorrow's sons, 
Like ocean's wrecks, are tossed ; 

But there revive those weeping ones, 
And life's dull sea is crossed. 

There is a land where small and great 

Before the Lord appear ; 
The spoils of fortune, and of fate, 

Whom Heaven alone can cheer. 

There is a land where star-like shine 

The pearls of Christ's renown ; 
And gems, long buried in the mine, 

Are jewels in his crown. 

There is a land like Eden fair, 

But more than Eden blest ; 
for a wing to waft me there, 

To fly, and be at rest ! 



244 THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL. 



THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL. 

Pope. 

Yital spark of heavenly flame, 
Quit, 0, quit this mortal frame : 
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying, 
0, the pain, the bliss of dying ! 
Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife, 
And let me languish into life. 

Hark ! they whisper : angels say, 
Sister spirit, come away. 
What is this absorbs me quite ? 
Steals my senses, shuts my sight, 
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath ? 
Tell me, my soul, can this be death? 

The world recedes — it disappears ; 
Heaven opens on my eyes ; my ears 

With sounds seraphic ring : 
Lend, lend your wings ; I mount, I fly. 
grave, where is thy victory ? 

death, where is thy sting ? 



THE FINAL JUDGMENT. 245 



THE FINAL JUDGMENT. 

John Harris, D. D. 

He who " sees the end from the beginning " has im- 
parted to man a subordinate prescience of the same 
comprehensive kind — has sketched on his mind an 
outline of the great system of providence, and filled 
him with presentiments of the principal events which 
are to attend the development of that system. The 
consequence is, that, wherever the Bible comes, it finds 
our nature preconfigured to many of its truths, waiting 
for an interpreter, and ready to respond to the truth 
of many a prediction, as a prophecy or an anticipation 
with which it had long been familiar in thought, and 
for which it only wanted divine authentication, and a 
name, in order to regard it as a solemn reality. In- 
deed, in this respect, the work of God only resembles 
his word ; for as in his word he has often disclosed the 
infinite affluences of his mind by revealing, with all 
the simplicity of apparent unconsciousness, an eternal 
principle in a passing word, an infinite project in an 
incidental allusion, so, in the construction of the hu- 
man mind, he has traced on it characters and imagery 
which can only be read by the light of eternity ; 
thrown on it the unsteady shadows of objects which 
stand yet far distant on the plains of futurity. Of 
these preintimations we know of none more deeply 
21* 



246 THE FINAL JUDGMENT. 

inlaid in the mind than that of future retribution. That 
the ancient saints lived in the faith of it, we know ; 
for the spirit of inspiration has recorded the very 
words in which, in the prospect of that day, they tri- 
umphed over their persecutors, and sang of the joy that 
would crown them in " the day of the Lord." And, 
relying on the uniformity and immutability of the hu- 
man constitution, we may safely infer that ancient sin- 
ners anticipated it also. There were moments when 
they possessed the warning of its approach in the rest- 
less apprehensions of their own breasts ; moments when 
the fires of that day seemed to rise up in the distant 
horizon, and to cast a lurid glare on the face of their 
startled and trembling consciences ; when the mention 
of such a day would have fallen in with the smothered 
forebodings of their minds, would have aroused an in- 
ward monitor, which, however carefully laid to sleep, 
was ready to awake at the slightest summons, and to 
bear testimony in the cause of righteousness. 

But, though the doctrine of a future judgment did 
not originate in the teaching of Christ, — though, from 
the earliest ages, mankind had variously received it, — 
yet the light they possessed, even the revealed light, 
did but just suffice dimly to show them the Judge 
enthroned in clouds, and surrounded with judgments ; 
while, from his superiority to temptation, his greatness 
and perfection, they inferred that the Judge of all the 
earth would do right. But the person of the Judge, 
the pomp and process of the judgment, its most solemn 
circumstances and affecting results, — all this was com- 
paratively unknown to them ; and, in supplying the in- 
formation, our Lord has greatly enlarged the original 
part of his teachings. 



THE FINAL JUDGMENT. 247 

Christ, when speaking of the final judgment, seldom 
omitted to insist and enlarge on its publicity. He thus 
reminds us, that the end for which there is any judg- 
ment at all is best secured by having it held in the 
presence of all worlds, that piety may be most hon- 
ored, sin most abashed, and the government of God 
vindicated and glorified, on the largest possible scale. 
In a few descriptive words, he fills the horizon with 
intelligent beings of all orders and characters. It will 
not be the judgment of a single individual, nor of a 
nation, but of a whole world of intelligent and ac- 
countable beings. It will not be an assize for sins of 
recent commission merely ; sins committed thousands 
of years before will be reproduced and examined, with 
all their circumstances of aggravation, as if they had 
been only just committed. What a profound impres- 
sion will that produce of the holy character of God, 
and of the infinite enormity of sin ! When his people 
are crowned, he would not have one of their enemies 
absent ; and when the ungodly are doomed, he would 
not have one of the righteous absent : he would have 
them now to forestall that day — to feel, by anticipa- 
tion, that they are speaking with the universe for their 
audience, and acting in the great theatre of the judg- 
ment ; and then, he would have them depart to their 
respective allotments, bearing away with them impres- 
sions of the hatefulness of sin, and the beauty of holi- 
ness, which shall remain uneffaced through all the 
scenes of eternity. 

" The Son of man shall come in his glory, and before 
him shall be gathered all nations." " The Father judg- 
eth no man, but hath committed all judgment to the 



248 THE FINAL JUDGMENT. 

Son." He hath " authority to execute judgment also, 
because he is the Son of man ; " in his superadded hu- 
manity consists the very reason of his appointment. 
If the Judge is to be seen on that day with our bodily 
eyes, and if realities are to triumph on that day over 
appearances, substances over shadows, then is it fit that 
no illusion should sit on the throne, — that He should 
occupy it who is, " without controversy, God manifest 
in the flesh." If it was right in God so to construct 
the plan of salvation that in all its workings it should 
be made to yield to believers, as it does, the largest 
possible measure of consolation and joy, then must it 
be right, also, that, in the person of their Judge, they 
should recognize their Redeemer. It will give an ad- 
ditional value to the crown of life, that it will be be- 
stowed by the hand of Christ ; that the very Being 
who died for them, who gave them the grace of re- 
pentance, and who awakened in them the hope of sal- 
vation, should come personally to realize their hopes? 
to collect them around him, to wipe away every tear, 
to receive the plaudits of the universe in their salva- 
tion ; this will be the only ingredient their cup of bliss 
will require, and the last it can receive ; having that, 
their joy will be full. And if it be right that his ene- 
mies should be vanquished, it seems fit that he should 
vanquish them ; if it is proper that unbelievers should 
be condemned, there appears a peculiar propriety that, 
both for their greater conviction and his greater ex- 
altation, the sentence of condemnation should be pro- 
nounced by him. 

And 0, what an enhancement of their doom will 
this single circumstance contain ! If a person be con- 



THE FINAL JUDGMENT. 249 

scious that he is chargeable with ingratitude, and with 
ingratitude beyond forgiveness, he would rather con- 
front his greatest foe than the person he has thus injured. 
Were any other being than Christ to ascend the throne 
of judgment, or were he any other than he is, the con- 
fusion of the impenitent sinner at appearing in his 
presence would be less intolerable. But when he shall 
draw near, and be compelled to look on that injured 
goodness, his confusion will be complete. When he 
shall behold him invested in the robe of humanity, that 
single sight will flash on him the recollection of all 
that Jesus did in that nature to redeem him : the incar- 
nation, the bloody sweat, the cross, the pierced side — 
all will rise to view, and penetrate him with an agoniz- 
ing sense of his ingratitude and guilt. When he shall 
hear the voice of that injured Being, the voice which 
he had heard so often in the gospel, inviting, entreat- 
ing, beseeching him in every tone of gracious solicitude, 
it will vibrate on his ear more dreadfully than the 
sound of the archangel's trump, which called him from 
the grave. When the impenitent are represented as 
calling on the mountains and rocks to fall on them, 
what is that which they seek to avoid ? They ask to 
be hidden from the face of Him that sitteth upon the 
throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb. The wrath 
of the Lamb ! Had it been the fury of the lion ; had 
it been the wrath of a being who had only created 
them, given them a law, and left them to obey it or 
perish, — who had only been known to them as a being 
of rigorous and unbending justice, — then, however con- 
scious of guilt, they might have attempted to lift up their 
hardened front in his presence. But it is the wrath of 



250 THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 

the Lamb ; of a Being who has always acted towards 
them with infinite tenderness and patience ; who became 
the Lamb of God, the great sacrificial Victim, suffering 
and dying to take away their guilt. This is the cir- 
cumstance which will render his wrath so unendurable 
that they will ask no higher favor than to be sheltered 
from the sight of his face, and would take the weight 
of the incumbent earth as a blessed exchange. 



THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 

KEV. H . II . MlLMAN. 

Even thus amid thy pride and luxury, 

earth, shall that last coming burst on thee, 

That secret coming of the Son of man, 
When all the cherub-throning clouds shall shine, 
Irradiate with his bright, advancing sign ; 

When that great Husbandman shall wave his fan, 
Sweeping like chaff thy wealth and pomp away ; 
Still to the noontide of that nightless day 

Shalt thou thy wonted dissolute course maintain. 
Along the busy mart and crowded street, 
The buyer and the seller still shall meet, 

And marriage feasts begin their jocund strain ; 
Still to the pouring out the cup of woe, 
Till earth, a drunkard, reeling to and fro, 
And mountains molten by his burning feet, 
And heaven his presence own, all red with furnace 
heat. 



THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 251 

The hundred-gated cities then. 

The towers and temples, named of men 

Eternal, and the thrones of kings ; 
The gilded summer palaces, 
The courtly bowers of love and ease, 

Where still the bird of pleasure sings ; 
Ask ye the destiny of them ? 
Go, gaze on fallen Jerusalem ! 
Yea, mightier names are in the fatal roll ; 

'Gainst earth and heaven God's standard is unfurled ; 
The skies are shrivelled like a burning scroll, 

And one vast common doom insepulchres the world. 
0, who shall then survive, 
0, who shall stand and live, 

When all that hath been is no more ; 
When, for the round earth hung in air, 
With all its constellations fair, 
In the sky's azure canopy ; 
When, for the breathing earth and sparkling sea, 

Is but a fiery deluge without shore, 
Heaven along the abyss profound and dark, 
A fiery deluge, and without an ark ? 

Lord of all power, when thou art there alone 
On thy eternal fiery-wheeled throne, 
That, in its high meridian noon, 
Needs not the perished sun nor moon ; 
When thou art there in thy presiding state, 
Wide-sceptred Monarch o'er the realm of doom, 
When from the sea depths, from earth's darkest 
womb, 
The dead of all the ages round thee wait ; 



252 THE RECOGNITION OP FRIENDS IN HEAVEN. 

And when the tribes of wickedness are strewn 

Like forest leaves in the autumn of thine ire ; 
Faithful and true ! thou still wilt save thine own ! 
The saints shall dwell within th ? unharming fire, 
Each white robe spotless, blooming every palm. 
Even .safe as we, by this still fountain's side, 
So shall the church, thy bright and mystic bride, 
Sit on the stormy gulf a halcyon bird of calm. 
Yes ! 'mid yon angry and destroying signs, 
O'er us the rainbow of thy mercy shines : 
We hail, we bless the covenant of its beam, 
Almighty to avenge, almightiest to redeem ! 



THE KECOGNITION OF FRIENDS IN HEAVEN. 

Rev. Benjamin Dorr, D. D. 

We have all lived to see many of our dearest friends 
and acquaintances removed to the world of spirits ;. 
and oft as busy memory retraces the scenes of by-gone 
years, and calls up the well-remembered forms — " the 
voice, the hand, the smile " — of the loved and lost, — 
"not lost, but gone before/ 7 — it is natural for us to in- 
quire whether we shall ever meet to know each other 
again, and whether those attachments which we now 
cherish will remain after death. 

Did we aim at logical accuracy, we should consider 
separately these several propositions : first, whether 



THE RECOGNITION OF FRIENDS IN HEAYEN. 253 

the souls of the righteous, in their disembodied state, 
and immediately after death, will know each other ; 
or, secondly, whether this recognition, if it occur at 
all, takes place only after the reunion of soul and body 
at the resurrection day ; and, thirdly, whether, if 
such knowledge exist, the attachments which bind us 
here will be continued hereafter. These subjects are, 
strictly speaking, entirely separate and distinct, inas- 
much as there may be knowledge without affection ; 
and if it were admitted that saints in light know each 
other, and all love each other, yet it does not neces- 
sarily follow that the peculiar ties which bind us here 
will be perpetuated hereafter. In like manner, if it be 
proved that friends will recognize each other in their 
glorified bodies, it does not follow, as a consequence, 
that pure disembodied spirits will possess such a recog- 
nition. To be strictly accurate, therefore, each of these 
separate propositions ought to be distinctly proved. It 
would, however, be foreign to our present purpose, and 
would be neither interesting nor instructive to our 
readers, to enter into all the niceties of the argument. 
We are aware that objections may be urged against 
the spirits of the righteous knowing each other, which 
would not apply to such a recognition in their glorified 
bodies. But, without attempting to answer such cavils, 
we can only say, in the words of the Eev. John New- 
ton, " How wonderful will the moment after death be ! 
how we shall see without eyes, hear without ears, and 
praise without a tongue, we cannot at present conceive. 
We now use the word intuition — then we shall know 
the meaning of it. But we are assured that they who 
love and trust the Savior shall see him as he is, and be 
22 



254 THE RECOGNITION OF FRIENDS IN HEAVEN. 

like him and with him." We shall, therefore, consider 
the whole subject as one and indivisible, and attempt 
to show that departed spirits, " whether in the body 
or out of the body/' will know each other, and that 
the pure and holy affections of love and friendship, 
which subsist now, will subsist forever. 

This doctrine appears to be perfectly consonant to 
reason ; for unless it be true that the souls of the right- 
eous possess this knowledge, their views of God's wis- 
dom, and justice, and mercy, and truth, must necessarily 
be very imperfect in a future state. The veracity of 
Him " who cannot lie " seems to stand pledged to as- 
sure us that he has, agreeably to his promises, con- 
ferred a superior degree of glory on those whose suf- 
ferings for the truth, and whose faith and patience in 
this life, were most conspicuous. Surely it will give us 
more exalted views of the faithfulness and love of Je- 
hovah, to know that he has bestowed the greatest re- 
wards on those who were distinguished for the greatest 
virtues ; that the faith of an Abraham, the meekness 
of a Moses, the patience of a Job, the zeal of a Paul, 
and the fidelity of that host of apostles, martyrs, and 
confessors, who suffered for the cause of Christ, " not 
accepting deliverance," have been rewarded with a 
greater measure of bliss and glory. But to know this, 
it seems necessary that we should know the persons 
thus distinguished. And if we are permitted to know 
any of the saints in light, we see no reason why we 
may not know them all. 

Again : we may reasonably suppose that a consider- 
able part of the happiness of the saints will arise from 
a retrospection of those trials and difficulties which 



THE RECOGNITION OF FRIENDS IN HEAVEN. 255 

they have mutually encountered, and through which 
God has so mercifully conducted them. It must cer- 
tainly be a delightful employment, and well calculated 
to increase their gratitude and joy, for those who have 
travelled together through life, sharing in each other's 
cares and sorrows, enduring the same " fight of afflic- 
tions," and struggling against the same temptations, to 
retrace the scenes through which they have passed, and 
to contrast their former " light afflictions " with their 
present " eternal weight of glory." This, however, 
could not be, unless there were a mutual recognition 
of each other. It is, therefore, in accordance with the 
soundest principles of reason, to suppose that the 
Christian will recognize in heaven those whom he 
loved on earth, and that the endearments of friendship 
will there be renewed and perpetuated. . . . That 
the pious and faithful under the Old Testament in- 
dulged this hope, and derived comfort from it, may be 
fairly inferred from several circumstances connected 
with the right of sepulture. On no other principle 
than the belief of meeting and recognizing their friends 
after death can we account for the deep solicitude 
which many of them expressed to have their bodies 
deposited in the same burial-place with those whom 
they loved on earth. If we suppose that Abraham, 
Isaac, Jacob, and Joseph believed in the resurrection 
of the body, and the recognition and reunion of de- 
parted relatives, we have a sufficient reason for their 
being so desirous of reposing beside their nearest 
earthly connections. But if they entertained no such 
hope, — if they did not believe that their bodies should 
rise again from the grave, or, when risen, that they 



256 THE RECOGNITION OP FRIENDS IN HEAVEN 

would not recognize each other, — then how can we 
account for that inimitably beautiful and pathetic 
charge of Jacob to his children just before his death ? 
" I am to be gathered unto my people : bury me with 
my fathers in the cave that is in the field of Ephron 
the Hittite ; in the cave that is in the field of Mach- 
pelah, which is before Mamre, in the land of Canaan, 
which Abraham bought with the field of Ephron the 
Hittite for a possession of a burying-place. There 
they buried Abraham and Sarah his wife ; there they 
buried Isaac and Rebekah his wife ; and there I buried 
Leah." * He wished to be buried by the side of his 
nearest kindred, his aged father and mother, and his 
beloved wife. Why, but that he hoped to rise with 
them, to know them again, and to enter with them into 
the mansions of glory ? If not, — if there was to be no 
recognition, — then might he as well have been buried 
among strangers in Egypt, as insist on being carried 
all the way to Canaan, to be placed in the cave of 
Machpelah. The same promise was exacted by Jo- 
seph of his brethren, and doubtless for the same 
reason. . . . 

It is the expression of David, on being told that his 
child was dead, "Wherefore should I fast? can I 
bring him back again ? I shall go to him, but he shall 
not return to me." This is evidently spoken by the 
Psalmist as a ground of comfort ; the thought of going 
where his child had gone consoled him under the 
present affliction. Yet it could have been no source 
of consolation to him, if he had not expected to meet 

* Genesis, xlix. 29-31. 



THE RECOGNITION OF FRIENDS IN HEAVEN. 257 

and recognize his child again. Had David said, on 
this occasion, "I too shall die; my soul shall go to 
the place of departed spirits, and my body shall be 
buried in the ground ; but my child shall never come 
back again to earth," — this would have been a mere 
truism ; it is no expression of hope or comfort. But 
when he says, J shall go to him, we understand him 
to say, "I shall see him again, I shall know him again, 
I shall embrace him again ; " and we then under- 
stand how he was comforted under the afflictive be- 
reavement. . . . 

There are two passages in St. Paul's Epistles which 
seem to place this subject beyond all question. They 
prove, at least, " that St. Paul anticipated on the last 
day a personal knowledge of those on his part, and a 
personal reunion with them, with whom he had been 
connected in this life by the ties of pastoral offices and 
kind affection." * To the Colossians he expresses the 
anxious desire of being able, in the day of Christ, to 
f present every man perfect in Christ Jesus ; " and 
to the Thessalonians he thus writes : " For what is our 
hope, or joy, or crown of rejoicing ? Are not even ye 
in the presence of our Lord Jesus Christ at his coming ? 
For ye are our glory and joy." Here this great apos- 
tle evidently anticipates with delight the time when he 
should meet these persons before the throne, and " pre- 
sent " them to the Lord Jesus, " as the seals " — to bor- 
row the language of the pious Doddridge — "which 
God had been pleased to set to his labors, and as amia- 
ble friends in whose converse and love he hoped to be 

* Mant's Happiness of the Blessed, p. 82 

22* 



258 THE RECOGNITION OF FRIENDS IN HEAVEN. 

forever happy." On this latter text the learned Dr. 
Macknight thus beautifully remarks : " The manner in 
which the apostle speaks of the Thessalonians shows 
that he expected to know his converts at the day of 
judgment. If so, we may hope to know our relations 
and friends then. And as there is no reason to think 
that in the future life we shall lose those natural and 
social affections which constitute so great a part of our 
present enjoyment, may we not expect that these affec- 
tions, purified from every thing animal and terrestrial, 
will be a source of our happiness in that life likewise? 
It must be remembered, however, that in the other 
world we shall love one another, not so much on ac- 
count of the relation and friendship which formerly 
subsisted between us, as on account of the knowledge 
and virtue which we possess; for among rational 
beings, whose affections will all be suited to the 
high state of moral and intellectual perfection to 
which they shall be raised, the most endearing rela- 
tions and warmest friendships will be those which 
are founded on excellence of character. What a pow- 
erful consideration this to excite us to cultivate in 
our relations and friends the noble and lasting quali- 
ties of knowledge and virtue, which will prove such a 
source of happiness to them, and to us, through the end- 
less ages of eternity ! " If St. Paul expected to know 
his converts at the day of judgment, may not every 
Christian minister indulge this hope ? Can there be a 
higher, holier anticipation — always excepting the hope 
of enjoying the beatific presence of God, and our 
Savior, and the holy angels — than that of meeting 
those whom we may have been instrumental in reclaim- 



HEAVEN. 259 

ing from sin to holiness, and rescuing from the bitter 
pains of eternal death, to exalt them to glory, honor, 
and immortality ? ... In heaven, the love of God 
and the love of our neighbor will be our highest duty, 
our highest privilege, our highest joy ; and so we trust 
it will be in reference to those endearments which now 
constitute the chief charm of life : they will be puri- 
fied, strengthened, and perpetuated. 

" I count the hope no daydream of the mind, 

No vision fair of transitory hue, 
The souls of those whom once on earth we knew, 
And loved and walked with in communion kind, 
Departed hence, again in heaven to find. 

Such hope to nature's sympathies is true ; 

And such we deem the holy word to view 
Unfolds — an antidote for grief designed, 
One drop from comfort's well. 'Tis thus we read 

The book of life ; but if we read amiss, 
By God prepared fresh treasures shall succeed 

To kinsmen, fellows, friends, a vast abyss 

Of joy; nor aught the longing spirit need, 

To fill its measure of unmingled bliss." 

Bishop Mant. 



HEAVEN. 

Rev. H. Melvill. 

" And there shall be no night there, and they need no candle, neither 
light of the sun ; for the Lord God giveth them light ; and they shall 
reign forever and ever." —Revelation xxii. 5. 

" They need no candle ; " nay, they need not even the 
" light of the sun." " The Lord God giveth them light : " 



260 HEAVEN. 

is not this to say that the Lord God giveth them himself? 
for remember what is affirmed by St. John — " This then 
is the message which we have heard of him, and de- 
clare unto you, that God is light, and in him is no dark- 
ness at all." And therefore God, in some ineffable 
way, is to communicate himself to the soul. There 
will probably be a communication of ideas ; * God 
will substitute his ideas, great, noble, luminous, for our 
own, contracted, confused, obscure ; and we shall be- 
come like him in our measure, though participating his 
knowledge. There will be a communication of excel- 
lences : God will so vividly impress his image upon us 
that we shall be holy even as he is holy. There will 
be a communication of happiness ; God will cause us 
to be happy in the very way in which he is happy him- 
self, making what constitutes his felicity to constitute 
ours, so that we shall be like him in the sources or 
springs of enjoyment. All this seems included in the 
saying that the Lord God is to give us light. And 
though we feel that we are but laboring to describe, 
by all this accumulation of expression, what must be 
experienced before it can be understood, we may yet 
hope that we have caught something of the grandeur 
of the thought, that God himself is to be to us, here- 
after, what the sun in the firmament is to us here. 
We wish to give, if possible, something of definiteness 
to the thought, by observing what an enlargement it 
supposes of all the powers of our nature ; for now 
it would consume us to be brought into intimate inter- 
course with God ; we must have the sun, we must have 
the candle ; our faculties are not adapted to the living 

* Saurin. 



HEAVEN. 261 

in his. presence, where there is no veil upon his lustres. 
Hence we have in the figurative sketch of the text, in 
the part which makes God the source of all illumina- 
tion, as well as in that which asserts the presence of 
night,, a representation of man as nobly elevated 
amongst orders of being, and of the sublimest knowl- 
edge as thrown open to his search. Man is elevated, 
for he has passed from the ordinances and institutions 
of an introductory state to the open vision and free 
communion of spirits who never sullied their immortal- 
ity. The sublimest knowledge is made accessible ; for, 
with God for his sun, into what depths can he pene- 
trate, and not find fresh truths ? With God as his tem- 
ple, along what aisle of the stupendous edifice can he 
pass, and not collect from every column and every arch 
majestic discoveries ? Where can he stand, and not 
hear the pervading spirit of the sanctuary breathing 
out secrets which he had vainly striven to explore, and 
wonders which he had not dared to conjecture. And 
thus, if it be a blessed thing to know that hereafter, 
set free from all the trainings of an elementary dis- 
pensation, we shall take our place, in the beauty and 
might of our manhood, amongst the nobles of creation ; 
that, gifted with capacities, and privileged with oppor- 
tunities for deriving from immediate contact with Dei- 
ty acquaintance with all that is illustrious in the uni- 
verse, we shall no longer need those means and agen- 
cies, whether of nature or grace, which, whilst they 
strengthen and inform, prove us not made perfect ; 
yea, if it be a blessed thing to know this, it is also a 
blessed thing to hear that there shall be no candle, no 
sun, in the heavenly Jerusalem. The substitution of 



262 0, TALK TO ME OF HEAVEN. 

God himself for every present source of light is among 
the most energetic representations of a change which 
lifts man into dignity, and gives the heights and depths 
to his survey ; and therefore, so far as the ripening of 
our powers is concerned, or the moral splendor of our 
heritage, or the freedom of our expiations, description 
has well nigh exhausted itself in the announcement of 
the evangelist, that the inhabitants of the new Jerusa- 
lem " need no candle, neither light of the sun ; for the 
Lord God giveth them light." 

" And the city had no need of the sun, neither of the moon to share in 
it ; for the glory of God did lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof. 
And the nations of them which are saved shall walk in the light of it ; 
and the kings of the earth do bring their glory and honor into it. And 
the gates of it shall not be shut at all by day, for there shall be no night 
there." — Revelation. 



0, TALK TO ME OF HEAVEN. 



Bowles. 

0, talk to me of heaven ! I love 
To hear about my home above ; 
For there doth many a loved one dwell 
In light and joy ineffable. 
O, tell me how they shine and sing, 
While every harp rings echoing ; 
And every glad and tearless eye 
Beams, like the bright sun, gloriously. 



0, TALK TO ME OF HEAVEN. 263 

Tell me of that victorious palm, 

Each hand in glory beareth, 
Tell me of that celestial calm, 

Each face in glory weareth. 

0, happy, happy country, where 

There enter eth not a sin ; 
And death, who keeps his portals fair, 

May never once come in. 
No grief can change their day to night ; 
The darkness of that land is light ; 
Sorrow and sighing God hath sent 
Far thence to endless banishment ; 
And never more may one dark tear 

Bedim their burning eyes ; 
For every one they shed while here, 

In fearful agonies, 
Glitters a bright and dazzling gem, 
In their immortal diadem. 

0, lovely, blooming country ! there 
Flourishes all that we deem fair ; 
And though no fields nor forests green, 
Nor bowery gardens, there are seen, 

Nor perfumes load the breeze, 
Nor hears the ear material sound, 
Yet joys at God's right hand are found, 

The archetypes of these. 
There is the home, the land of birth 
Of all we highest prize on earth ; 
The storms that rack this world beneath 

Must there forever cease : 



264 THE HAPPINESS OF HEAVEN. 

The only air the blessed breathe 
Is purity and peace. 

0, happy, happy land ! in thee 

Shines the unveiled Divinity, 

Shedding through each adoring breast 

A holy calm, a halcyon rest. 

And those blest souls whom death did sever 

Have met to mingle joys forever. 

0, soon may heaven unclose to me ; 

0, may I soon that glory see ; 

And my faint, weary spirit stand 

Within that happy, happy land. 



THE HAPPINESS OF HEAVEN. 

President Timothy Dwigiit. 

In this world we are children, standing on the bank 
of a mighty river. Casting our eyes upward and 
downward, along the channel, we discern various wind- 
ings of its current, and perceive that it is now visible, 
now obscure, and now entirely hidden from our view. 
But being far removed from the fountains whence it 
springs, and from the ocean into which it is emptied, 
we are unable to form any conception of the beauty, 
usefulness, or grandeur of its progress. Lost in per- 
plexity and ignorance, we gaze, wonder, and despond. 



THE HAPPINESS OF HEAVEN. 265 

In this situation a messenger from Heaven comes to 
our relief, with authentic information of its nature, its 
course, and its end, conducts us backward to the foun- 
tains, and leads us forward to the ocean. 

This river is the earthly system of Providence : the 
Bible is the celestial messenger, and heaven is the 
ocean in which all preceding dispensations find their 
end. In that glorious world no revelation will be 
needed to illumine the thoughts of its inhabitants con- 
cerning the divine administrations. . . . Possessed 
of superior vision, the eye will, here, with a direct and 
undeceiving survey, trace from the beginning the glo- 
rious dispensations of its Creator towards the various 
inhabitants of his boundless empire ; will see them rise 
from little fountains, and, enlarging by continual ad- 
dition, become mighty rivers. . . . 

Christ is the light of heaven, as well as of the pres- 
ent world. He has taught us that he will feed his 
followers, and lead them to living fountains of waters. 
He will furnish them with that knowledge which is the 
true food of the mind, and, to slake their thirst for 
improvement, will lead them to the fountains of eter- 
nal wisdom, from which they shall drink forever. The 
perfections and pleasures of the Uncreated Mind he 
will eternally unfold, and direct them, throughout all 
the ages of heaven, in the paths of truth, virtue, and 
enjoyment. The instructor will be their Savior. The 
disciples will be those whom he has redeemed from 
perdition with his own precious blood. Think what 
must be the instructions of such a Teacher ! what the 
improvement of such disciples ! . . . 

The heavenly inhabitants will render to God su- 
23 



266 THE HAPPINESS OF HEAVEN. 

preme and unmingled reverence. He will appear in 
his proper character, infinitely great and majestic, but 
divested of all those terrors, amid which he has so 
often manifested himself in the present world. He 
will no longer have his way in the whirlwind and in the 
storm, nor be surrounded by a flame of devouring fire. 
These were manifestations made to sinners, and will 
never be repeated in the heavenly world. That fear 
of the Lord which is wisdom, that fear of the Lord 
which is a fountain of life, will rise spontaneously, and 
delightfully, in every mind, when it fixes its eye on the 
greatness and purity of Jehovah, at once infinitely 
awful and lovely ; while the fear, which bringeth into 
bondage, will by perfect love be cast out forever. 

The mysteries, which in this world have perplexed 
their views concerning the dispensations and character 
of God, will there be finished by a complete disclosure 
of their nature, tendencies, and ends. It will there be 
clearly discerned, that in every case God proposed, and 
accomplished, that which was fittest to be done ; that 
which, in the possession of clear, unprejudiced, unerring 
views, their own minds pronounce to be worthy of the 
universal Ruler. This conviction will preclude every 
doubt, every fear, concerning his future dispensations. 
The perfection of the past will be admitted without a 
question, as complete evidence of the perfection of the 
future. The soul, therefore, will cheerfully yield it- 
self with implicit confidence to the guidance and con- 
duct of its Creator throughout the never-ending prog- 
ress of duration. 

• • • . • 

Heaven is the world of friendship ; of friendship 



THE HAPPINESS OF HEAVEN. 267 

unmingled, ardent, and entire. The disinterested love 
of the gospel dwells here in every bosom. Selfishness, 
since the ejection of the fallen angels from these de- 
lightful regions, has been here unknown and unheard 
of, except in the melancholy tidings, which have 
reached the happy inhabitants, of its deplorable effects 
on our apostate world. Here, every individual in the 
strictest sense fulfils the second great command of the 
moral law, and literally loves his neighbor as himself. 
No private, separate interest is ever proposed. A 
common good is announced by the voice of God, so 
great, as to comprise all individual happiness ; so ar- 
ranged as to furnish every one his proper portion, the 
part which he is to fulfil, and the means by which he is 
to act in it with absolute efficacy ; and so noble as to 
fix every eye, engross every heart, and summon every 
effort. It is a good involving not only all that can be 
acquired, but all that can be wished, all that can exist. 
This great truth is, also, admitted with perfect confi- 
dence by every celestial mind. Every individual com- 
pletely realizes the import and the truth of that glo- 
rious declaration of Christ, the foundation of all pure 
and lasting good, whether personal or social : It is 
more blessed to give than to receive. Under its influence, 
all the hearts and hands, all the mighty faculties and 
unwearied efforts, of the heavenly inhabitants, are 
completely occupied in doing good. To what a mass 
must this good arise where the work is carried on by 
saints and angels, in the great field of heaven, through- 
out the endless ages of duration ! . . . 

This friendship will endure forever. No degeneracy 
will awaken alarm and distrust, no alienation chill the 



268 THE HAPPINESS OP HEAVEN. 

heart, no treachery pierce the soul with anguish. No 
parent will mourn over an apostate child, and no child 
over a profligate parent. No brothers, nor sisters, will 
be wrung with agony by the defection and corruption 
of those who, inexpressibly endeared to them in this 
world by the tender ties of nature, and the superior 
attachments of the gospel, have here walked with 
them side by side in the path of life, and have at 
length become their happy companions in the world 
of glory. Husbands and wives, also, here mutually 
and singularly beloved, will there be united, not in- 
deed in their former earthly relation, but in a friend- 
ship far more delightful, and, wafted onward by the 
stream of ages without a sigh, without a fear, will be- 
come, in each other's eyes, more and more excellent, 
amiable, and endeared, forever. 

• . . • • 

To the eye of man the sun appears a pure light, a mass 
of unmingled glory. Were we to ascend with a con- 
tinual flight towards this luminary, and could we, like 
the eagle, gaze directly on its lustre, we should in our 
progress behold its greatness continually enlarge, and 
its splendor become every moment more intense. As 
we rose through the heavens, we should see a little orb 
changing, gradually, into a great world ; and as we 
advanced nearer and nearer, should behold it expand- 
ing every way, until all that was before us became a 
universe of excessive and immeasurable glory. Thus 
the heavenly inhabitant will, at the commencement of 
his happy existence, see the divine system filled with 
magnificence and splendor, and arrayed in glory and 
beauty ; and as he advances onward through the 



HEAVEN. 269 

successive periods of duration, will behold all things 
more and more luminous, transporting, and sunlike, 
forever. 



HEAVEN. 

Bishop Ken. 



The saints in happy mansions rest, 

Of all they can desire possessed ; 

No misery, want, or care, 

No death, no darkness there, 

No troubles, storms, sighs, groans, or tears, 

No injury, pain, sickness, fears. 

There saints no disappointments meet ; 

No vanities, the choice to cheat ; 

Nothing that can defile ; 

No hypocrite, no guile ; 

No need of prayer, or what implies 

Or absence or vacuities. 

There no ill conscience gnaws the breast ; 
No tempters holy souls infest ; 
No curse, no weeds, no toil ; 
No errors to embroil ; 
No lustful thoughts can enter in, 
Or possibility of sin. 
23* 



270 WHAT MUST IT BE TO BE THERE. 

Saints' bodies there the sun outvie, 
Tempered to feel the joys on high : 
Bright body and pure mind 
In rapture unconfined, 
Capacities expand, till fit 
Deluge of Godhead to admit* 

With God's own Son they reign co-heirs ; 

Each saint with him in glory shares : 

Like Godhead, happy, pure, 

Against all change secure, 

In boundless joys they sabbatize, 

Which love triune will eternize. 



"WHAT MUST IT BE TO BE THERE!" 

Anonymous. 

We speak of the realms of the blest, 
Of that country so bright and so fair, 

And oft are its glories confessed ; 
But what must it be to be there ! 

We speak of its pathways of gold, 
And its walls decked with jewels most rare, 

Of its wonders and pleasures untold ; 
But what must it be to be there ! 



ETERNITY. 271 

We speak of its freedom from sin, 
From sorrow, temptation, and care, 

From trials without and within ; 
But what must it be to be there ! 

We speak of its service of love, 

Of the robes which the glorified wear, 

Of the church of the first-born above ; 
But what must it be to be there ! 

Then let us, 'midst pleasure and woe, 
Still for heaven our spirits prepare ; 

And shortly we also shall know 
And feel what it is to be there ! 



ETERNITY. 

Hervey. 



eternity, eternity ! how are our boldest, our strong- 
est thoughts lost and overwhelmed in thee ! Who can 
set landmarks to limit thy dimensions, or find plum- 
mets to fathom thy depths? Arithmeticians have fig- 
ures to compute all the progressions of time ; astrono- 
mers have instruments to calculate the distances of the 
planets ; but what numbers can state, what lines can 
gauge, the lengths and breadths of eternity? "It is 
higher than heaven, what canst thou do ? Deeper 



272 THE SILENT LAND. 

than hell, what canst thou know ? The measure thereof 
is longer than the earth, broader than the sea." 

Mysterious, mighty existence ! a sum not to be les- 
sened by the largest deductions ! an extent not to be 
contracted by all possible diminutions/ None can 
truly say, after the most prodigious waste of ages, 
" So much of eternity is gone ; " for, when millions of 
centuries are elapsed, it is but just commencing ; and 
when millions more have run their ample round, it 
will be no nearer ending. Yea, when ages numerous 
as the bloom of spring, increased by the herbage of 
summer, both augmented by the leaves of autumn, and 
all multiplied by the drops of rain which drown the 
winter, — when these, and ten thousand times ten 
thousand more, more than can be represented by any 
similitude, or imagined by any conception, — when all 
these are revolved and finished, eternity — vast, bound- 
less, amazing eternity — will only be beginning / 



THE SILENT LAND/ 

Salis. 

Into the silent land — 
Ah ! who shall lead us thither ? 
Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather 
And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand. 
Who leads us with a gentle hand 
Thither, 0, thither, 
Into the silent land ? 






THE SILENT LAND. 273 

Into the silent land ! 
To you, ye boundless regions 
Of all perfection ! Tender morning visions 
Of beauteous souls ! The Future's pledge and band 
Who in life's battle firm doth stand, 

Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms 
Into the silent land. 

Oland! land 
For all the broken-hearted ! 
The mildest herald by our fate allotted 
Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand 
To lead us with a gentle hand 

Into the land of the dear departed, 
Into the silent land. 



" There is a path which no fowl knoweth, and which the vulture's eye 
hath not seen : the lion's whelps have not trodden it, nor the fierce lion 
passed by it. But where shall wisdom be found ? and where is the place 
of understanding ? Man knoweth not the price thereof ; neither is it found 
in the land of the living. The depth saith, It is not in me : and the sea 
saith, It is not with me. Destruction and death say, We have heard the 
fame thereof with our ears. God understandeth the way thereof, and he 
knoweth the place thereof : for he looketh to the ends of the earth, and 
seeth under the whole heaven." — Job xxviii. 



274 suspieia. 



SUSPIRIA. 

H. W. Longfellow. 

Take them, Death ; and bear away 
Whatever thou canst call thine own : 

Thine image stamped upon this clay 
Doth give thee that, but that alone. 

Take them, Grave ; and let them lie 
Folded upon thy narrow shelves, 

As garments by the soul laid by, 
And precious only to ourselves. 

Take them, great Eternity ; 

Our little life is but a gust 
That bends the branches of thy tree, 

And trails its blossoms in the dust. 



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